Life Goes On
by Moonsp1r1t
Summary: After the death of his mother, Connor is sent to live with his father in the suburbs. Haytham, on the other hand, did not know of his son's existence and now has to struggle with trying to raise a young teenager on his own. First attempt at a modern AU. Updates irregularly (sorry guys, I try my best).
1. Chapter 1

So this is my first stab at a modern AU, and I don't _quite_ know where exactly I am going with this, so please be patient with me. There will be no OCs if I can help it; every character in this will exist in canon. There also likely won't be any romance, accept for maybe mentioned HaythamxZiio. This will also be switching the points of views between Connor and Haytham each chapter. If you like it, please drop me a comment. If not, leave constructive criticism, but be nice.

If I get enough of a positive response, it will inspire me to continue writing it.

Anyways, I'm confident that this story has been done before, but I hope that you will enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

* * *

Connor's forehead pressed against the car window as he watched the land roll past him in a blur. The neighborhood looked nice enough, he supposed, but Connor didn't particularly care. His mind was drifting, his thoughts elsewhere. Even the sound of the social worker, Miss something-or-another Stillman, telling him how lucky he was simply white noise in the background.

So much had changed in the last month. Ever since the fire, and the death of his mom, he had been in the custody of social services who had been shuffling him around looking for any relatives to take him in. Three days ago they had told them that they had at last managed to find his father, and that he was willing to take him in.

His father. A man whom Connor had never even met. Of course, when Connor had inquired about the man to his mother, she had said, simply, that they had an argument while she was pregnant, and that they hadn't spoken since. Other than that, Connor knew nothing about him until Miss Stillman told him his name; Haytham Kenway.

"We're here." Stillman said brightly from the front seat.

She parked the car and clambered out the side. Connor peered at the house skeptically. It looked nice, he supposed. It was painted white with a black roof and there was a column on either side of a red door. There were a couple of red and orange maple trees, their shadows dappling the neatly trimmed lawn.

From outside, his social worker looked at him expectantly, until he sighed and climbed out of the car himself. He slung his small backpack over his shoulder, inside the meager possessions that had been salvaged from the fire along with a couple of different changes of clothes.

Connor followed the social worker glumly down the leaf-strewn path to the front door. She pounded on the door, turning back slightly to smile at Connor. They only had to wait a moment or so before the door swung inwards, and Connor could see his father for the first time.

Connor didn't know what he was expecting, but he found himself surprised nonetheless. The man before them had pale skin and high cheekbones. His brown hair, which seemed to have small streaks of gray in it, was pulled back neatly into a ponytail. His steely blue eyes surveyed Connor and the social worker carefully, and a small, weary smile appeared hesitantly on his face.

"Hello, Mr. Kenway." Miss Stillman said with forced brightness, "Thank you so much for doing this."

"Hello." he said nervously, his accent distinctly British, "You must be Connor." he added, looking at the boy, who subconsciously flinched backwards. Haytham frowned, his eyebrows drawing together.

The social worker clapped one perfect, manicured hand on Connor's shoulder, pushing him forward slightly.

"Be good." she said, "We will send someone to check up on the both of you in about three weeks."

With that, she turned, somewhat abruptly in Connor's opinion, and went back to her car, left. Connor watched the car until it had turned a corner and was out of sight before turning back towards the man who was supposedly his father, his hands fidgeting nervously in front of his chest.

Haytham stood aside, his back pressing against the door. "Do you, ah, wish to come in? I can show you your room and we can..." he paused, hesitating, as he searched for the right word. "Talk?"

Connor nodded wearily, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes in a sort of grimace before stepping over the threshold of his new home.


	2. Chapter 2

Haytham knew that his life was never going to be the same. He had not been expecting to get a call four or five days earlier from social services asking him if he had the resources and the will to take in the son he had never even known existed. Of course, he had agreed. He couldn't quite explain why, but he felt like he owed it to the boy, and to Ziio.

It was quite a shock, when he got the call. Not only did he find out he had a son, but he also found out that the woman he had loved was dead. He didn't know how, he didn't press for details, but if social services were asking him to take in his son, then she was almost certainly gone.

Haytham had always loved children; that was part of the reason why he became a teacher. If he was to have children with anyone, it would have been Ziio. Now, here he was, about fourteen years after they had broken up and she had ended it with him, taking in her son. _Their_ son.

Seeing him for the first time when he opened the door, Haytham was struck by how similar he the boy looked. He seemed to have a perfect blend of his parents' features. He had Ziio's dark hair and eyes, but he had Haytham's nose and facial structure.

"I'll show you to your room." Haytham said awkwardly, once they were both inside.

Connor just looked at him. Haytham bit his lip; he wished the boy would say something, _anything_. This silence was uncomfortable.

Haytham began to make his way up the stairs. He risked a glance back down to see that Connor was hesitating, but eventually he began to make his way up after him.

"Your room is there." Haytham said, pointing, "The guest bedroom is there, and that's my room. The guest bedroom is mostly occuoied when my father or my sister come to visit. The bathroom is there for when you need it, but there's another one downstairs."

Haytham headed down to the room at the end of the hall and pushed the door open. The room was simple enough and neat, the window open slightly to let in the crisp, autumn air, the white curtains stirring slightly. There was a bookshelf in the corner with a combination of old history and story books, and a nightstand with a blue lamp on it sat next to the white sheeted bed. The sliding closet doors were closed, but it didn't matter; it was empty, anyways.

"Feel free to explore. I'll, um, be downstairs if you need me. If you have any questions, do not hesitate to ask. I'll call you when dinner is ready." Haytham paused again, trying to think of something else to say, but shaking his head and slipping out of the room.

Silently, as Haytham made his way back down the stairs, he was wondering if he was doing the right thing by leaving Connor alone. He didn't want it to seem like he didn't want him around, or that he was eager to get rid of him, but he also wanted to give the boy enough space to settle in. He also didn't want to appear overbearing.

Haytham headed to the kitchen and began to make spaghetti and garlic bread; he had no idea what Connor liked or didn't like, and he wasn't much of a cook, but Haytham tried his damned hardest to make it as perfect as he could, as if one dinner together would somehow make up for the fourteen years of Haytham's absence Connor had to endure before.

Parenting was hard.


	3. Chapter 3

Connor stood dumbly in his new room after Haytham, his father, he supposed, had left. Eventually, after about ten or so minutes of standing there stock-still like a statue, he slid the straps of his bag off of his shoulders and set it onto the ground carefully. He sat down carefully on the pristine bed, and stared at the wall until his father called him for dinner.

Connor slunk down the stairs hesitantly. He wandered around for a little while until he managed to find the kitchen. Haytham's back was to him, at the stove, cooking something. Connor slid into one of the four empty chairs at the dining room table, pushing aside a stack of papers. Haytham heard him and glanced back.

"Sorry about that." he said, setting a plate of spaghetti in front of Connor, "I've been meaning to work on those."

Connor's mouth watered at the sight of the spaghetti; it was his favorite. He poked at it with his fork hesitantly as Haytham sat across from him.

"Sorry if you don't like spaghetti," he added. "I didn't know what you liked, so I just..." he trailed off, his mouth falling into a frown before he moved another mountain of papers to the floor.

Connor carefully bit into his dinner and deemed it satisfactory; it was okay, he supposed, but it was nowhere near as good as the kind his mom used to make.

"Unfortunately I have to go into work tomorrow; I have to watch a couple of presentations. However, then it's Saturday, and I was thinking we could spend the day together." continued Haytham briskly.

Connor hesitated. "What do you do?"

Haytham looked at him in surprise and Connor realized that was the first thing he had said to the man.

"I'm an English teacher." Haytham said slowly, "Our town isn't big enough for three different schools, so we have the primary schoolers and the high schoolers go to the same school."

Connor looked at the stack he had moved and sure enough, printed on the first page, were the words, "Diction in " _The_ _Beggar's_ _Opera_ " and added in as an afterthought under that in neat, flowing cursive, was the name Ezio Auditore. Judging by the score scribbled in at the top, Ezio, whomever he may be, would have to redo his paper.

"Will I be going to school?" Connor asked carefully.

"Of course you will." Haytham said sharply, "But not immediately, so you can get settled. I figured that would be best. Soon, though."

Connor looked back down at his dinner and poked at it with his fork. He missed his old school. He had had friends there, and he missed them. Kanen'tó:kon was the one he had been closest to, and now there was a possibility that he was never going to see him again.

"If..." Haytham hesitated, "Can you tell me what happened? To Ziio? If it's not too painful." he said quickly.

Connor froze, and the world around him seemed to fall away. He didn't look at Haytham, and his eyes fixed at a knot in the wood of the table as he set his fork down carefully. He took a shaky breath, searching for his voice again.

"She died." Connor said eventually, "And now I'm here."

Haytham fell silent, Connor's message clear.

"Anyways," Haytham said quickly. "Once you're settled in, maybe after a week or so, I'll enroll you. It's a good school, with good people. I'm sure you'll find some friends soon."

Connor nodded.

No one said anything for the rest of the evening. After dinner, Haytham kept looking like he wanted to say something more to him, but he remained silent. Haytham pulled a stack of papers he needed to grade towards him, and Connor aimlessly explored the house for the next couple hours or so until he quietly informed Haytham that he was going to bed.

"Okay." Haytham said, looking up at him, "Just let me know if you need anything."

Without another word, Connor turned and headed back upstairs. He went into the room where he was to stay, and laid down on the bed where he stared up at the ceiling until he fell into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

*feels obligated to put an author's note, but can't think of anything to say*


	4. Chapter 4

Haytham got up at his usual time the next morning. In fact, the only difference from his usual morning routine was the fact that he left a note for Connor on the refrigerator door, and a copy of the note on the front door, in case he didn't see the first one.

He took his car and drove to the school. He taught his classes. He told Ezio that he had lunch detention _again._ He went to lunch at the usual time, and discussed various students with his coworkers. In fact, there was no real major change in Haytham's day until the end of lunch, in the teacher's lounge. The other teachers had left, making sure they were prepared for the rest of the day. The only other teacher at the table was a personal friend of Haytham's, a man whom he had known before he even met Ziio.

"Is something wrong, Haytham?" Charles Lee asked, concern in his eyes.

Haytham frowned. "What?"

"You seem... Distracted." Charles said.

Haytham paused, considering. "Do you remember... Ziio?"

Charles's frown deepened, his eyebrows drawing together. "Yes. Why do you ask?"

"She's dead." Haytham said hollowly.

"Oh. _Oh_ ," Charles's eyes widened. "I'm-"

"And social services have given me custody of our son." Haytham concluded.

Charles stared, his eyes as wide as saucers. "Did-"

"No, I did not know about him." Haytham sighed, "Connor's at home now. I figured it would be best if he got settled in for a little while, before he starts to come here."

Haytham, honestly, wasn't surprised that he hadn't known about Connor until recently. He would have gladly payed child support, even visited the boy when ever possible, but he knew Ziio; she would not have accepted his help, even if he had shoved the money into her hands. He was also willing to bet that, as a single, working mother, they hadn't been too well off. The thought made Haytham's insides squirm guiltily, even though he knew very well that there was nothing he could have done for them.

"You... Left him alone?" Charles asked doubtfully.

Haytham hesitated, getting Charles's point. "I should call him." he admitted.

Without another word, Haytham stood, gathered his things and headed back to his classroom, leaving Charles alone. He picked up the classroom phone and carefully dialed his home phone number, holding it up to his cheek as it began to rang.

And rang.

And rang.

Just as Haytham was about to give up, someone picked up the receiver and he heard Connor's voice say, "Hello?"

"Connor, it's me." Haytham said.

"Okay." Connor said.

There was a pause.

"I wanted to check up on you." Haytham said.

"Okay." Connor said again, "I'm fine. I went outside for a bit." He added.

At that moment, a couple of his students trickled into the room, the fairer haired of the two complaining loudly about how he didn't know why his friend insisted on dragging him in there "two whole minutes before class started."

"I'll be home in a while." Haytham promised.

"Okay." Connor said yet again.

More students were beginning to head inside, plopping down on their respective assigned seats.

"I'll see you later." Haytham said.

"Goodbye." Connor said.

"Goodbye." Haytham echoed.

Haytham set the phone down with a sigh. Several of his students were smirking and muttering to one another about a girlfriend.

"That," said Haytham shortly, feeling like he offered some sort of explanation to his students. "Was my son."

The muttering ceased, and several of the students exchanged glances with one another and stared at their teacher with raise eyebrows, as this was the first time that Haytham had spoke about his personal life in class, other than at the beginning of the year when he mentioned that he visited his father and sister in England over the summer.

"No, if you will pull out your books and the passage commentaries you were to write for homework last night, we will get started." Haytham said, snapping back to the usual demeanor he used especially for teaching, as his students groaned and grumbled around the room.

* * *

I would really like Charles to be the antagonist, though I haven't really worked out how. Maybe I will make him super racist, or abusive. Or both.


	5. Chapter 5

When Connor had woke up that morning, it was already fairly late, and the sunlight was already filtering in through the window and falling in a beam across the bed. The digital clock sitting on the nightstand informed him that it was about nine-sixteen.

Connor slid out of the bed and stood for a moment in the room that wasn't his, before going down stairs. He saw a purple sticky note stuck to the front door. He plucked it off of the door with his thumb and forefinger and deciphered the neat cursive that was written in blue ink.

 _Connor_ ,

 _I am at work now, and I should be home at about three to four, as I have to meet with some students after class. Feel free to help yourself to anything in the fridge when you get hungry._

- _Haytham_

Connor frowned and stuffed the note into his pocket, finding an identical one moments later on the refrigerator. After deciding he wasn't hungry, he headed outside into the front yard on a whim.

He wove around the maple trees before grabbing one of the lower branches on an impulse and pulled himself into the leaves. He had always loved climbing, especially trees. In fact, Connor was confident that he spent half of his childhood having his mom tell him to stop climbing and to get down.

Connor was nearly to the top of the, to be honest, rather small tree when he realized he was being watched. He looked down to see a young child with dark hair and brown eyes at the base of the tree looking up at him, open mouthed. Connor frowned down at him, waiting for him to speak.

And so he did. "How'd you get up there?"

"I climbed." Connor replied.

The boy gawked. "Can I come up too?" He looked thrilled at the very thought.

"Um, I don't think that's such a good idea." Connor said, slipping from the branch and dropping down out of the tree.

The boy crossed his arms over his chest and looked at Connor up and down. He pointed at his face accusingly and said, "I've never seen you before. Who are you?"

"I'm Connor." he said.

"I'm Desmond, and I'm four!" the boy said proudly.

Connor shot a glance around. "Where are your parents?"

"They're at work." Desmond said brightly, "Achilles is babysitting me."

Connor raised his eyebrows. He didn't know who Achilles was, but if he was babysitting Desmond, he was probably frantic looking for him.

However, before Connor could say anything, Desmond blurted, "Where are iyour/i parents?"

Connor frowned, wondering how to answer. "Um... gone." he said eventually, "Where's Achilles, then?"

"I can show you!" Desmond said brightly, grabbing Connor's hand.

Desmond, as it turned out, only lived two houses down. He dragged Connor acquiescently into the house, shouting for Achilles.

The two headed into the living room where an old, dark skinned man was snoring softly in an armchair. Desmond walked up to him and shook him, yelling at him to wake up. When he still didn't wake up, instead he gestured lazily and mumbled something about Peru, Desmond sat on him. Achilles woke up with an _oof_ before looking around blearily, his gaze resting on Desmond first and then Connor.

"Who're you?" asked Achilles tiredly.

"Desmond had wandered off and started to watch me climb trees." Connor said, "So I took him home."

"Hmmm..." Achilles grunted, scratching his chin.

"Can we play?" Desmond asked, looking hopefully at Achilles with wide eyes, "Connor lives just two doors down."

After playing with Desmond for a little while, closely supervised by Achilles, Connor headed back into the house when the old man said that it was time for Desmond to take a nap, a little after one.

He heated up some of the leftover spaghetti in the microwave and poked at it with his fork, taking a bite every now and then. Once his plate had been cleared, and his dishes were placed in the sink, Connor jumped at the sound of the phone on the counter ringing. He stared at the phone apprehensively for a few minutes as it continued to ring.

He didn't think he should answer it. It wasn't for him, undoubtedly. So it wasn't any of his business to answer it, right? Still, Connor supposed he could take a message, if it was important. God knows he did it all the time for his mother. Connor hesitantly picked up the receiver and pressed it to his cheek.

"Hello?" he asked.

It was Haytham's voice who answered him. "Connor, it's me."

"Okay." said Connor, glad he picked up the phone.

There was a slight pause as Connor waited for Haytham to reply.

"I wanted to check up on you." he said eventually.

"Okay." said Connor, "I'm fine. I went outside for a bit." he added, feeling like he should add something more.

There was another pause, during which Connor could hear people, the students, he supposed, chatting with one another in the background.

"I'll be home in a while." Haytham said awkwardly.

"Okay." said Connor, wondering why he couldn't seem to stop say that word. Although, honestly, he didn't know what else he could say.

"I'll see you later." Haytham promised.

"Goodbye." Connor said awkwardly.

"Goodbye." repeated Haytham.

There was a click, signifying the end of the conversation. Connor released a breath that he did not realize he was holding.

"Connor!" came Desmond's voice from outside, "I gotta frisbee, and Achilles is asleep again! Lets play sommore!"


	6. Chapter 6

At the end of the school day, Haytham stayed a little while afterwards to gather up some papers to grade at home and publish that night's homework on the class website. He also briefly spoke to the people in the main office to enroll Connor.

He headed back to his house, all the while thinking about how he was going to spend the evening with Connor.

" _Perhaps_ _we_ _can_ _find_ _a_ _movie_ _to_ _watch_..." Haytham pondered thoughtfully as he turned onto his drive.

However, as Haytham approached his house, the first thing he saw was the young boy from down the street standing on his front lawn looking upwards. On the roof stood Connor, holding a frisbee

Cold horror washed over Haytham. He parked the car as quickly as he could, and ran out onto the lawn. Connor looked down at his father guiltily, still clutching the frisbee. William Miles' boy, however, grinned up at Haytham happily.

"'Ello mister Kenway." he said brightly, "Connor and I was playing-"

Haytham didn't bother correcting the boy's grammar, as he normally would have. Instead, he shouted up at Connor, "What the _bloody_ _hell_ are you doing on the roof!?"

"Well, Desmond and I were playing frisbee, but it accidentally-" Connor began nervously, flinching backwards slightly.

"Stay put." Haytham growled, "I'm going to get the ladder, and you will use it to get down _safely_."

He ran to the shed in the back and grabbed the latter as quick as he could, although by the time he returned to the front yard Connor was safely on the ground again, dusting his jeans off, the little boy clapping his hands while he laughed, "Again! Again!"

Stoney-faced, Haytham walked the boy to Mr. Miles' house, not listening as he babbled on and on about the simply _wonderful_ day he spent with Connor. Connor remained silent. When the babysitter tiredly answered the door, Haytham quickly explained the scene he had returned home to find, and bade that Achilles keep watch over his charge in the future.

Neither Haytham nor Connor said a word until they got back to their house.

"Sit." Haytham commanded, once they were in the living room.

Connor sat on the couch, his hands fidgeting on his lap. Despite this, however, Connor did not break eye contact with Haytham; he was not looking away in shame or embarrassment as Haytham had expected him to.

"Are you _mad_!?" Haytham demanded, "What were you _thinking_ , climbing up on the bloody roof!?"

"Desmond and I were-" Connor and I began.

"Don't you go blaming that boy for what you did!" Haytham yelled, " _He_ wasn't the one up on the roof!"

Haytham folded his arms behind his back and began to pace back and forth in front of the television.

"You could have seriously hurt yourself!" Haytham exploded, "You could have fallen down and broken your neck! And then where would you be!? I've never seen someone do something so foolish in my entire life, and I teach high schoolers! What if you had hurt yourself, and no one had been there to help you!?"

"But I didn't get hurt." Connor pointed out, almost smugly.

"Don't get cheeky with me, young man." Haytham said sternly, stopping his pacing abruptly to look at Connor, "That's not the point. You could have."

"I knew what I was doing." Connor said shortly, his arms crossing over his chest, "Besides, I don't see what the big deal is; Mom let me climb on stuff all the time."

"Well I'm not your mother, and you are not to climb on anything anymore!" Haytham exploded.

Connor scowled and stood abruptly. He stomped up stairs and Haytham could hear him slam the door to his bedroom.

"And you can stay up there for the rest of the night!" Haytham shouted.

Haytham stood in the living room for a few minutes, listening, but there was only silence. He sighed and made himself a drink before flopping down onto the couch.

After a couple of hours, Haytham finally stood and made a plate of food for each of them. He left his own plate on the dining room table and took the second upstairs. He rapped lightly on Connor's bedroom door with his free hand.

"Connor?" Haytham asked carefully, "I'm sorry I lost my temper with you. You just scared me, is all. To be honest, I enjoyed climbing on things when I was your age as well; it's only natural. But I don't want to see you hurt. Okay?"

There was no response. Frowning slightly, Haytham gently turned the door knob and entered the room to find that the light was still on, but Connor was deeply asleep. Haytham allowed a smile to lightly grace his lips.

Haytham was placing the plate of food carefully on the nightstand when he noticed the picture for the first time. It was sitting next to Connor on the bed, positioned in a way that it seemed like Connor had been looking at it moments before he had fallen asleep. It perplexed Haytham, because he had never seen it before, but he assumed that Connor had brought it with him, and it was in the drawstring bag he had, where it now laid, open, against the bed.

Haytham carefully picked up the frame from the bed, but Connor did not stir.

It was a picture of Connor and Ziio. They appeared to be standing on some hiking trail in the woods somewhere, and Ziio was holding out her arm to take the picture. Connor looked like he was about eight, and he was grinning so that Haytham could easily see the gaps where his adult teeth would grow in. Excitement lit up his features, and he looked thrilled to be there, wherever they may be. Haytham glanced down at the Connor that was currently sleeping on the bed, and he noticed helplessly that he seemed so much more worn than the younger Connor in the photograph.

Ziio, in the picture, looked worn as well; she had more wrinkles on her face than Haytham could remember her having, and there were strands of gray on both of the braids that were resting on her shoulders. Not to mention that everything about her seemed tired; her smile, her posture, her eyes, the way her free arm was slung around Connor's shoulders.

To Haytham, it seemed odd to see her in such a way. Everything about her had always made her seem strong, especially the way her dark brown eyes burned with a fiery passion as she threw herself fully into whatever she was doing. Looking at that picture now, Haytham wondered what had happened to make her change in such a way, in the fourteen years they had been apart.

Connor stirred slightly in his sleep, mumbling something that Haytham did not understand. Haytham placed the photograph on the nightstand behind the food. He grabbed an extra blanket from the closet and threw it over Connor.

Casting the room one last sweeping glance, Haytham turned off the lights on his way out.

* * *

Sorry I haven't updated for a while, but now that school's going to let out, I should update more, though I admit that I have been rather want for ideas.


	7. Chapter 7

When Connor awoke, he was confused, as he could not remember falling asleep; nor could he remember getting out an extra blanket. When he glanced over on the nightstand to see a sandwich on a plate sitting on it, he put two and two together.

Connor hesitantly headed downstairs to find Haytham sitting at the cluttered table, newspaper in one hand, at which he was looking at the front headline with disinterest. In his other hand he had a cup of what Connor guessed was earl gray tea. And, bizarrely, the air smelled like something was burning.

Connor hesitated in the doorway, wondering if he would still be angry about his escapade on the roof yesterday.

Haytham glanced up. "Connor." he greeted, before turning back to the newspaper, "I tried to make pancakes, but they sort of got burned..."

Connor sidled into the room and slid into the empty chair.

"Feel free to help yourself to anything in the cupboard." Haytham said.

Connor opened his mouth to say that he wasn't hungry when his stomach grumbled. Haytham looked up at him with an eyebrow raised and a wry smirk, seeming to know exactly what he was going to say.

Once he had found some (to be honest, rather stale) cereal in the cupboard, before plopping down into the chair he had sat in before.

"I was thinking that we could go to the history museum today." Haytham said casually, "They have a fantastic new exhibit on the American Revolution."

"Is it... Saturday?" Connor asked hesitantly.

Haytham looked up in mild surprise. "Yes. Did you have something in mind, that you wanted to do?"

"Well," Connor hesitated. "Every Saturday mom and I would go have lunch with each other, at a local restaurant, the Homestead."

It was something that Connor looked forward to every week. His mother had to work two different jobs to support the both of them, six days a week. Saturdays were the only days they really got to hang out with one another. They would usually just sit in a booth and talk, sharing a milkshake or a basket of fries and talk about whatever came to mind; what they did that week, any jokes they heard, or random upcoming projects that they may have, for either work or school.

Haytham frowned, considering. "Well, I'm afraid that we don't have a Homestead restaurant here, but there is the Aquila."

"The Aquila?" Connor asked.

"It's a local diner. How does that sound?"

"Okay." Connor muttered reluctantly. The Homestead had been a hunting shop, as well as a restaurant, and Connor doubted that this place that Haytham was talking about would have his favorite elk burger.

"Why don't you get dressed?" Haytham suggested after a moment or so, "It's not far, so we can walk, when you're ready."

It didn't take them long to arrive at the diner. The Aquila was owned by the chef, a loud, boisterous man named Robert Faulkner, whom claimed to formerly be a sailor.

Haytham and Connor sidled into a booth. The former scanned the menu while Connor gazed with disinterest out the window.

"I enrolled you at school." Haytham said casually.

Connor jerked out of his daydream and looked over at him. "What?"

"You're to start on Monday."

Connor looked at him in dismay. "But-"

"I know it will be difficult, but I think that the sooner you get acclimated the better." continued Haytham, "In the mean time, we can get to know each other better. I hardly know anything about you."

Connor scowled and slumped back against the back of the booth, his arms crossed over his chest, waiting for Haytham to speak.


	8. Chapter 8

"Let's start with the basics, shall we?" Haytham said slowly, noting Connor's displeasure, "Like... what's your favorite color?"

Connor hesitated. "Green."

"What kind of green?" Haytham pressed.

Again, Connor hesitated. He sighed.

"Mine is blue-gray." Haytham offered

Connor continued to remain silent. Haytham leaned forward onto the table and peered at him.

"Look, Connor, this won't work if we don't communicate with one another." sighed Haytham.

"Forest green." said Connor, somewhat begrudgingly.

It was a start. Haytham, who had been working with children for a long time, knew that it was sometimes difficult to convince a shy child to participate. The easiest way to do this was to try to convince them totalk about themselves; usually they do so when you offer information about yourself in turn. That way they will start to trust you more, and feel more comfortable talking to you.

"What do you like to do?" asked Haytham.

"I like to climb." muttered the boy opposite.

"What kind of climbing?" he pressed.

"Trees, mostly." admitted Connor.

An idea struck Haytham suddenly. "There's a parkour gym in town, owned by Mario Auditore. Have you ever tried parkour?"

"... No. What is it?"

"It's sort of like... urban obstacle course. Building climbing." Haytham explained, "I did it with my dad, some, when I was your age. My sister, Jenny, wasn't too interested, however."

There was another awkward pause. Luckily, at that point, their waitress chose that moment to return.

"Hey, so what can I g- Mr. Kenway!"

Haytham looked up, his eyebrows raised. "Rebecca?"

Rebecca Crane had been in his class a couple of years ago. As far as Haytham knew, she was spending her time working in town to at least get a start on money for college so that she could get a degree in computer engineering.

"How have you been?" Haytham asked.

"I'm alright. And who's this?" Rebecca said, turning towards Connor.

Haytham glanced over to see that Connor was slumped down in his seat, and he seemed to be trying to melt into the seat.

"This is Connor." Haytham said, still watching his son, his eyebrows drawing together.

"How do you do, Connor? Mr. Kenway used to be my English teacher." Rebecca said, smiling at Connor.

Connor mouthed something that neither of them could hear. Haytham frowned, wondering if he signed Connor up for school too early. He remembered talking to Connor's social worker, Miss Stillman, about how, according to Connor's file, he had been shy before, but after Ziio's death, he had become even quieter.

Haytham wondered if he was doing right by his son.

* * *

I use these tactics when working with shy children. Sometimes if you tell them something about you, then they will open up to you and start talking to you more about other stuff. However, this doesn't always mean that they are willing to talk to other people.

I know, I know, the chapter's ireally really/i short. I'm sorry! I promise, though, the next one will be up soon, and it should be more exciting; Connor starts school. :)


	9. Chapter 9

The exterior of the school was gray, and almost void of windows. Connor stared at it doubtfully from next to Haytham.

"I'm sorry you have to come so early." said his father, "I have to come early to prepare for my classes, and we also need to pick up your schedule."

Connor glumly followed Haytham through the front doors of the school. They entered the office where they found a woman with purplish hair sitting at a desk, typing at a computer. Connor noted that the name on her name tag read _Melanie_ _Lemay_ , _Secretary_.

"All right, Melanie?" Haytham greeted when they entered.

She looked up from her computer and smiled. "Good morning Haytham. What can I do for you?"

"I'm here to pick up Connor's schedule." Haytham said.

She nodded. "I'll print it out. Just give me a moment."

When Mrs. Lemay left, Haytham leaned over to Connor, "The principal is Mr. Mualim. He and Melanie have been friends for a while now."

"Mr. Mualim?" asked Connor.

"I have his grandson in my class. He's a senior." said Haytham.

Luckily, at that moment, Mrs. Lemay chose to return. She smiled at Connor as she handed him the paper.

Haytham and Mrs. Lemay began to chat with one another while Connor looked at his schedule:

 _History_... _Hastings_... _A_ - _7_

 _Physical_ _Education_... _d'Alviano_... _Main_ _Gym_

 _Math_... _Lee_... _C_ - _18_

 _Lunch_

 _Science_... _Vidic_... _D_ - _13_

 _French_... _Dorian_... _F_ - _11_

 _English_... _Birch_... _B_ - _3_

Haytham peered down at the schedule. "Ah, I see you have Charles for math. He's a good man; a friend of mine. And Reginald Birch is decent too."

Connor asked, "Where's... uh..." he consulted the schedule. "A-7?"

"I can take you." Haytham offered.

History class, on the whole, was fairly decent. The teacher, Mr. Hastings, had an accent similar to Haytham's. They were in their Renaissance unit, and Mr. Hastings would only deviate from his lecture about the Borgia to make a sarcastic comment every now and then, coaxing a semi-reluctant chuckle from a handful of the students.

Physical education, however, was taught by a loud, boisterous man who, when he caught sight of Connor, grabbed his hand and shook it violently, introducing himself as Bartolomeo d'Alviano. The class itself was mixed grades, which was rather intimidating. Connor had very little trouble locating the main gym from Mr. Hastings' room, which he was grateful for.

After gym, when he changed back into his regular clothing, he realized that he had no idea where to find his math classroom. Connor wandered the halls of the school, trying to find it on his own, and ended up getting more lost than before. He ended up finding himself in the library, where some of the older students were spending a free period.

The closest teens to him were at a table a few feet away. One was sitting down, clearly trying to study, where as the other was sitting on the table itself talking to his friend, earning several warning glares and glances from the librarian and the other students, which he ignored.

Biting his lip, Connor approached them and stuttered, "U-uh, excuse me?"

The two looked up at him. The boy who was sitting on the desk looked at Connor with mild distain. The other tore his attention away from the book and watched him curiously.

"I- I was wondering if you could tell me where- uh- Mr. Lee's classroom is."

"Are you new, or something?" said the boy on the table with a slight drawled, earning a mild glare from his companion.

"I can take you. I know where it is; my little brother has that class." he slammed his book shut and tossed it into his messenger bag as he stood. He raised an eyebrow at the other boy. "Are you coming, Altaïr?"

Altaïr sighed. "Nah, I should actually probably finish my philosophy homework."

The other boy frowned at him. "Then why on earth were you sitting there talking to me about swords?"

"I'll see you later, Malik." Altaïr said, smirking as he slid off of the table and began to rummage around in his backpack.

Malik turned towards Connor. "This way."

They exited the library, Malik in the lead and Connor trotting along behind him. Every now and then the former would glance back at him to make sure that he was still following.

"You're Mr. Kenway's kid, aren't you?" Malik said suddenly.

Connor started. "Uh, yeah."

Malik nodded. "You look like him. He mentioned you, in class, the other day."

"Oh." Connor wasn't quite sure how he felt about that.

Neither of them spoke for a little while, until Malik stopped in front a door.

"We're here." he said.

Connor opened his mouth to thank him, but before he could say anything, Malik added, "Good luck. I heard that Mr. Lee can be fairly nasty sometimes."


	10. Chapter 10

After he dropped Connor off at Shaun's classroom, Haytham headed to the teacher's lounge. It was mostly empty, accept for a couple of people in the history department chatting tiredly over coffee. He had a seat at one of the empty tables and opened the file he received from Connor's social worker.

He read for the longest time, phrases such as "skittish" and "withdrawn" leaping out at him, but he could not find anything on Ziio's death.

Haytham, though he was reluctant to admit it to himself, he missed her even after all this time. They had had some, stupid fight that Haytham convinced himself that barely remembered the details of. He just remembered that, at the end of the night, Ziio had stormed off, driving away in her car, and he never saw her again. Last he heard of her until recently was that she had moved in temporarily with her mother just outside of Boston.

" _Her_ _mother_ ," Haytham realized. "She _would_ _know_ _what_ _happened_ _to_ _Ziio_."

Haytham flipped through the file some more until he found what he was looking for; Ziio's mother, Oiá:ner, was currently living at an old folks' home called The Sleeping Fox.

Haytham grabbed a sticky note and scribbled down the name, making a mental note to contact them later when he had the chance...

He and Charles had been out on New Years at a small local pub. Haytham hadn't particularly wanted to go out, he would have been perfectly happy to stay at home, but Charles insisted.

A young woman sat down a few seats at the bar from them, maybe fifteen minutes after they arrived. Haytham, without intending to do so, found himself staring at her.

She had tan skin and high cheekbones; her limbs were long, and her twin black braids fell down to her chest. She was unconventionally beautiful, but lovely all the same.

If the woman noticed that Haytham was staring at her, she ignored him. Charles, however, followed his gaze to the stranger and a slight frown came across his face, a crease forming between his eyebrows.

"Didn't know _that_ was your type." Charles grunted, scowling into his drink.

The woman glanced over at them and briefly made eye contact with Haytham, who proceeded to look away hurriedly, embarrassed. However, much to his surprise, the woman continued to watch him, her mouth twisting into a frown.

"Look, I'm not stupid; I know you were checking me out." she said.

"I'm sorry." Haytham stammered, "It's just that... I've never seen you before."

The woman's gaze softened slightly. "Well, I did just move here. Who are you?"

"Haytham Kenway." he said, "Sticking his hand out, "I teach at the local school."

"Oh? You're a teacher?" she asked, "What do you teach?"

"English."

The two paused for a moment until Haytham asked, "What's your name?"

A smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "Kaniehtí:io."

Haytham stared at her, dumbfounded. "Ka- Kan- Ka-"

The woman chuckled lightly, before offering a breathtaking smile. "Just call me Ziio."


	11. Chapter 11

"Ah, so you're the one." said a voice when Connor entered the room.

At least two dozen faces turned towards him as he slid into the room. The man standing at the front of the room glowered at Connor, and, subconsciously, Connor shrank into himself.

"I will have you know, Mr. Kenway, that lateness will not be tolerated in this school, and especially in this classroom." the teacher, Mr. Lee, said, "You may stay ten minutes late into your lunch break after class today. Now, please take your seat in the back of the room next to Miss Grandpré."

Mr. Lee pointed to one of the only empty chairs in the room, which happened to be in between the only other two students of color in the class.

Gloomily, Connor slouched to the back of the room, ignoring the nearly silent giggles from the other students as he passed, and took his seat between the African American girl with long, black braids and the Arab boy with bright blue eyes.

Mr. Lee watched him until Connor sat down, at which point he opened his textbook and turned back towards the whiteboard, droning on about basic algebra.

Connor's face flushed and he buried his face into his hands in embarrassment.

"Sorry." whispered the girl to his left.

"Don't let him get to you," said the boy bracingly. "Mr. Lee is... Well, he's not the nicest teacher I've ever had. Isn't really nice to anyone, really, though he's especially mean to the two of us.

"You just came here? To town?" the boy whispered.

Connor nodded, but kept his eyes lowered towards his desk.

"I'm Aveline de Grandpré." said the girl, "What's your name?"

"Connor." he muttered.

"I'm Kadar." said the boy, "Nice to meet you, Connor."

Connor looked up at the boy and tried not to glare at him. He was trying to be nice, after all, even if Connor didn't particularly feel like talking. He glanced up to the front of the classroom, but Mr. Lee's back was to them, and he was talking about the Pythagorean Theorem.

"Why'd you come here?" Aveline asked, "I mean, we've heard that you're Mr. Kenway's son, but..."

Connor fell silent for several minutes before he asked, "Are there already rumors circulating about me?"

"My brother's in Mr. Kenway's class, and he mentioned you in class at one point." Kadar admitted.

Connor glanced up at him and peered at him, noticing his resemblance to Malik, the boy from earlier, though Kadar's hair seemed naturally messier, and his features weren't quite as hawk-like.

"You're the new kid right now." Aveline said gently, "There are always rumors in the beginning. There were even a bunch of rumors about me when my family and I moved here from New Orleans several years ago."

Connor hesitated and sighed. "Yes, I'm living with Haytham now."

"Why?" asked Kadar.

Connor glared at him, and the boy finally took a hint and fell silent.

The rest of the period passed uneventfully, however, at the end of the period, Connor began to pack away his things, hoping that he could sneak away with the rest of the class.

"Not so fast, Mr. Kenway." Mr. Lee snarled, "Don't think I don't know what you're trying to do. I think I'll add an extra five minutes into your time this afternoon."

Connor scowled at him and made to grab his book out of his bag, but Mr. Lee once again stopped him.

"And no entertainment either." he said, "You will sit there, in silence, for fifteen minutes, then you can be on your way."

Connor retracted his arm from his bag and folded them across his chest, staring at Mr. Lee scathingly as his teacher got out his own lunch and set it on his desk. Mr. Lee began to set into his lunch, and Connor's stomach audibly growled. Mr. Lee smirked.

After what seemed like centuries, Mr. Lee finally said, "You may go now, Mr. Kenway. And let this be a warning."

Connor glanced up at the clock, noticing that Mr. Lee had kept him and extra three minutes. Furious, Connor slammed his things into his bag and stormed out of the room without so much as a backwards glance. To his surprise, he found Aveline and Kadar waiting for him.

"There you are." Aveline said warmly, smiling at him, "Mr. Lee kept you late, did he?"

"We wanted to invite you to sit with us at lunch today." Kadar said, before Connor could respond, "I know we don't have too much break time left, but you're welcome to spend it with us."

"We have a little area to ourselves just across from the main gym." Aveline said.

Connor paused, weighing the pros and the cons. He didn't know anyone yet, accept for Haytham and Desmond, but he didn't really think either of them counted. He didn't know the layout of the school yet, and thus he could not find the cafeteria on his own. Not only that, but it's damn unlikely that he would even be able to find a place to sit.

"Okay." said Connor reluctantly, "I'll sit with you just this once, okay?"

"Sounds good." Kadar said cheerfully.

"Come on," Aveline said, gently taking Connor by the hand. "We can take you."

* * *

Haven't had much time to work on this lately (between driver's ed and the fact that I'm trying to write a novel) but I promise that I'm getting there! I will finish this.

I was trying to decide who I wanted to be Connor's friends at school. Aveline was an obvious choice, but I wanted someone else as well. I briefly thought about Petruccio, but that wouldn't work so well if I wanted the thing where Charles is super racist, so I decided on Kadar. Plus, that gives me an opportunity to have a sort of "Solomon's Temple" plot line, as I've already introduced Malik and Altair as well.


	12. Chapter 12

Sorry this is so over due!

Slight trigger warning on this one. We get to figure out how Ziio died. I thought about making it an accident, but I didn't think that quite fit.

Oh, and for "Ziio's" last name, I took it from her voice actor. Yes, I know, Native Americans didn't typically have last names, just bare with me please.

* * *

"Hello, this is The Sleeping Fox, Nikolai speaking." said a voice on the other line with a faint Russian accent after Haytham dialed the number he had found.

"Yes, I was hoping that I could speak to one of the residents, here?" Haytham said.

"Would you like to set up an appointment to meet in person?" asked the man.

"Now, over the phone, will do." Haytham said.

"With which resident would you like to speak?" said Nikolai.

"Oiá:ner Horn." Haytham said, hoping that he was pronouncing her name correctly.

"Can I ask your name?"

"Haytham Kenway." he said.

"And your relationship to Mrs. Horn?" Nikolai asked.

Haytham reflected for a moment, trying to decide how best to answer. Friend of her daughter? "I'm the father of her grandson." Haytham decided.

"Please wait a moment."

The line went quiet accept for the faint tune to some music. Haytham waited patiently until Nikolai's voice returned.

"She is available and willing to speak to you now."

There was a slight pause before an elderly woman's voice spoke. "Hello?"

"Ah, yes, hello." said Haytham, "I don't know if you remember me, but I-"

"Yes, I remember you Haytham Kenway," Oiá:ner said. Haytham could practically hear the smile in her voice. "Kaniehtí:io spoke of you quite often, even after she moved back to the city. Never in front of Ratonhnhaké:ton, though. I assume he's staying with you, now?"

It took Haytham a moment to realize she was talking about Connor. "Yes, he is."

"I assumed as much. I would have taken custody myself, if I weren't living here." the old woman said, "How is he doing?"

"He's... adjusting." Haytham said.

"Good, good. I suppose it must take some getting used to, especially after what happened." Oiá:ner said, her tone turning sad.

"Can- can I ask how Ziio died?" Haytham asked. He could feel his heartbeat quickening in anticipation.

"No one told you?" Oiá:ner asked sharply.

"No." said Haytham.

The old woman sighed. "She told you why she moved out to the suburbs?"

"She did." Haytham said nervously.

About a year into their relationship, Ziio mentioned that she had moved out to the suburbs to escape an old, "crazy" ex boyfriend. She hadn't gone into details, but Haytham was fairly certain that he had been abusive. Haytham didn't know who he was, he didn't even know the man's name, but he made Haytham's blood boil with fury.

"After Ziio left, he moved back out to Virginia. I suppose that, a year or so ago, he moved back over here, and found out that

Kaniehtí:io was back in the area as well.

"A few of months back, he followed her home to the apartment at which she and Ratonhnhaké:ton were living. He broke in, knocked Kaniehtí:io out, tied her up, and set the place on fire."

Haytham's eyes widened, and he stared blankly at his desk in front of him. He could see where this was going, no matter how much he wanted to deny it.

"Ratonhnhaké:ton got off of school before the police and the fire department arrived." Oiá:ner went on, "He ran into the burning building himself, bent on rescuing my daughter himself. Luckily, one of the firemen pulled him out before he could seriously injure himself."

Haytham swallowed. He opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn't seem to find the words.

"They caught the man, and he confessed easily enough. Last I heard, he was awaiting trial." Oiá:ner said sadly, "Being charged with arson, one account of first degree murder, and three accounts of second degree murder.

"Ratonhnhaké:ton doesn't know all of the details, but he knows the gist."

Haytham was speechless; he knew that Ziio was too young to have died naturally, but he never expected something so... horrific.

Even now as he thought about it, he had seen coverage on the news about an arson that had targeted an apartment a while a go, where four people had died. Haytham, however, had had no idea that Ziio was one of them.

And Connor. Poor Connor. Everything he had ever known had been torn away, just because of some arsehole that was off his rocker.

It took Haytham several minutes to find his voice again. When he did, he quietly said into the receiver, "Thank you for telling me."

"You were a fine young man." Oiá:ner informed him, "Very polite, very kind. Ziio spoke of you a lot, I know I mentioned before. I often hoped that you two would stay together."

Haytham paused, not sure how to respond. So he thanked her again quietly and was about to hang up when Oiá:ner spoke again.

"Ziio loved you, you know. A lot." she added, "I suppose that is why she gave Ratonhnhaké:ton your last name instead of her own."


	13. Chapter 13

Connor noticed that Haytham was quiet on their way home.

After school, Connor had headed to Haytham's classroom, as he had bade Connor to do the previous evening. When Connor entered, Haytham looked at him with an emotion he couldn't identify. Connor bit his lip nervously.

Silently, Haytham and Connor headed into the parking lot and got into the car. Connor slid into the back and held his backpack on his lap, fidgeting with the straps.

A thought struck Connor. What if Haytham was mad at him for some reason? Connor couldn't think of any reason why he iwould/i be mad at him... accept for what happened in Mr. Lee's class. Perhaps Mr. Lee told Haytham that Connor got in trouble, and that was why Haytham was behaving so strangely; because Connor had disappointed him.

Figuring that it would be best if he stayed out of Haytham's way, Connor stayed mainly at the dining room table for the rest of the evening, attempting to complete his obscene amount of math homework (all of his teachers had been reasonable and understanding in terms of homework, what with Connor coming in in the middle of the year , all accept for Mr. Lee, who gave Connor at least one worksheet for each unit they already completed). Around ten o'clock, Connor figured that he could finish the rest in the morning before class, and went to bed.

By Thursday, Connor was convinced that Mr. Lee was targeting him. It seemed that he could not go a single class period with him without getting in trouble for some small misdemeanour. On Tuesday he was accused of talking in class for asking Aveline what the date was. On Wednesday he finished his worksheet early so he started to read, and Mr. Lee took away his book and gave him two extra worksheets. On Thursday Mr. Lee caught Connor looking at the rain outside of the window and made a big show of asking him what was so interesting to look at outside. For all of these, Connor received lunch detention for all of these.

Connor was also convinced that Mr. Lee was targeting Aveline and Kadar because of him as well. Connor noticed that while he didn't seem to give them detention as much as Connor, Mr. Lee would often snap at them more than the other students. Connor was beginning to think that he might be bad luck.

"I wanted to talk to you about something, Connor." Haytham said Thursday evening at the dinner table.

Connor swallowed and carefully put his fork down. "Yes?" he asked nervously.

"Your behavior in Charles' class." Haytham said, "I've been told that you're getting in trouble almost constantly."

"It's not my fault," Connor snapped, slamming his elbow on the table and pressing his cheek to his palm moodily. "Mr. Lee doesn't like me."

"That's ridiculous." said Haytham with a slight scoff, "Why wouldn't he like you?"

"I don't know!" said Connor, frustrated, "But he seems to single me out for no reason whatsoever! Like on Tuesday when I got in trouble for asking Aveline what the date was when Petruccio Auditore was spending the entire class period passing notes!"

Haytham frowned, pondering this. "That's not what Charles said. He said you were talking almost non stop to Aveline and Kadar."

"I was not!" Connor protested.

"I suppose I'll talk to Charles about it." said Haytham thoughtfully, "I won't have time at lunch tomorrow because of the reports I have to grade, but in the evening… You will need a babysitter though." he added, looking sideways at Connor.

"I'm old enough that I don't need a babysitter." said Connor.

"Still, I would feel better if you had a babysitter." Haytham insisted.

"I could go over to Desmond's house, with Achilles." suggested Connor.

"I'm not so sure that's a good idea," Haytham said tiredly, clearly thinking about the mishap the other day with the roof. "Don't worry; I think I might know of someone."


	14. Chapter 14

Haytham checked his watch, despite knowing that the babysitter wouldn't be late. He always seemed to be exactly on time, wherever he was going.

Haytham arranged to meet with Charles later on that evening, at the bar at which he had met Ziio for the first time to discuss Connor's behavior in class. He had a feeling that it was going to be a long night, and he wouldn't want to leave Connor alone for that long, even without the incident involving the roof.

He had known the babysitter's family since he had moved there from London. In fact, they were some of the people he had first met in town, other than Charles, of course. Now, being as busy as he was, he didn't get to talk to the couple very often. Haytham did, however, find himself talking quite often to their eldest son, who was now in his class. That's part of the reason he chose him to keep an eye on Connor while he was gone.

As if on cue, someone pounded on the door. Connor glanced up from his history textbook at the door. His eyes flicked back to Haytham, who gestured for him to keep reading as he headed over to the door.

"Thank you for coming, Malik." said Haytham

"No problem." said his student, "May I come in?"

Haytham stepped aside and gestured towards the inside of the house. Malik thanked him and breezed throught. Connor stared at him from the table, clearly surprised at whom Haytham had chosen to be his babysitter. Malik smirked and set his bulging bag of books down next to the table.

"How are you doing, Connor?"

Haytham checked his watch again. "Okay, I'm going to head out. I should be back before nine. You both should know my number, but I left it on the fridge just in case."

"Okay." Connor mumbled.

"I'll see you later." Haytham said with slight hesitation, moving towards the door, "Have fun."

"Goodbye Mr. Kenway." said Malik, pulling out a textbook of his own and setting it down on the table with a thunk.

"Um, bye." muttered Connor.

"I'm locking the door on my way out." said Haytham, opening said object, "Malik, try not to let him on the roof. Stay safe."

Haytham shut the door behind him with a snap and locked it as he said he would. He walked out to his car and drove down to the pub, the Morrigan.

When he arrived exactly on time he didn't see Charles immediately so he sat down at the bar out of habit.

"What can I get you?" asked Shay, the bartender and the owner of the pub, asked.

"Nothing now, thank you." Haytham said after a moment's pause, "I'll flag you down if I change my mind."

Shay shrugged and moved along the bar. Haytham sat on the stool, glancing back and forth between the door of the pub and down the bar. A full five minutes after Haytham arrived, Charles walked into the door and had a seat next to him. Haytham raised an eyebrow at him, but he did not remark upon his lateness at all.

"So. What did you want to talk about?" Charles said as he flagged down Shay to order a beer.

"Connor." Haytham said seriously.

"What about 'im?" replied Charles without interest.

"He says you've been unreasonably harsh with him in class." said Haytham, watching him intently for a reaction.

"Nonsense." Charles said brusquely, "I expect the same from him as all of my other students."

"He says you pick on him for the smallest things." said Haytham carefully.

Charles finally turned to look at Haytham. His expression, however, was sour with a vague sense of disdain. "Like what?"

"He says that you gave him lunch detention for asking one of his friends the date." he said.

"He had been talking to those two other delinquents non stop throughout the entire period." Charles insisted stubbornly, "Honestly, who would you rather believe? Me, or that boy whom you don't even know?"

"He's my son." said Haytham heatedly, "And I won't stand for it if anyone is bullying him. Even you, Charles."

"Your concern for the boy is touching." said Charles with a sneer, "Especially considering you didn't even know that he existed until a few weeks ago."

"Nevertheless." snapped Haytham, fury boiling inside of him, "I am his father, and I haven't been there for him for the last fourteen years; I don't intend to be so lax with my care now. If I discover that you have been unfair to my son in any way for any reason…"

Haytham fell silent, allowing his threat to hang in the air between them. His blue gray eyes met Charles' hazel, refusing to back down first. Charles smirked and grabbed his things, slipped off the bar stool and headed out of the pub. Haytham stared after him for a while before digging around in his wallet, leaving a couple of bills on the counter for Shay and heading out himself.

Outside, Haytham could not see Charles nor his car anywhere. He glanced at his watch. Seven o'clock. He pulled out his phone and punched the number of his home phone.

It was Malik who answered. "Hello?"

"Hello Malik, it's me."

"Hi Mr. Kenway."

"How's Connor?" asked Haytham.

"Good." There was a slight pause. "He finished up his homework so we're watching some history documentary."

"Sounds good. I'm finished up here, so I'm about to head back. Thank you very much for doing this again, Malik."

"Is everything okay, Mr. Kenway?" Malik said uncertainly, "Something sounds... I don't know, off."

"Don't worry, Malik. Everything's brilliant."


	15. Chapter 15

"So." said Haytham at their weekly Saturday brunch.

Connor looked up at Haytham from his menu (not that he needed to look at it anyway; he knew what he wanted to order). "So?" he asked.

"I talked to Charles about you last evening as you very well know." Haytham went on.

"Yeah." said Connor, only half paying attention.

"I told him what you said. About him picking on you in class." he added.

"What did he say?" said Connor.

"I'm not actually sure he was listening to what I had to say." admitted Haytham.

"Oh." Connor said, disappointed, looking back at his menu.

"Yeah." Haytham said, "I told him what you said about him getting you in trouble for no reason, but he denied everything."

" _Of course he did_." thought Connor cynically.

Haytham, noticing Connor's scowl, sighed and sat back in the booth. Neither of them spoke for a moment or so until Rebecca came to take their orders. It wasn't until Rebecca had left that either of them spoke again.

"Tell me if he gives you any more trouble, will you?" said Haytham.

"Fine." said Connor, knowing that it was a promise unlikely to be kept.

* * *

Connor was beginning to believe that he was bad luck. All his life he seemed to be surrounded by it, and he was starting to wonder if he was the cause of it. Even before he came to live with Haytham, even his best friend, Kanen'tó:kon, had remarked that Connor had the worst luck out of anyone he had ever known.

When he was on his way to school, Haytham's car got a flat tire, which threw Connor off for the rest of the day, not to mention that Mr. Lee was even more irrational than usual. Connor suspected that Mr. Lee was angry that he had told Haytham about the unfair treatment he was receiving in class. As a result, he kept not only Connor in for lunch (the ENTIRE time without letting him eat), but he made Aveline and Kadar stay in too, simply because they were associated with Connor. They had not done anything to cause them to be punished; Mr. Lee had merely made up some offence to have an excuse to get them in trouble.

The three of them sat in the room in silence, Mr. Lee not having any tolerance of talking during detention, giving Connor time to ponder his luck.

After the bell rang, Mr. Lee kept them in the classroom until passing time had ended. Aveline immediately burst into the hall, running to her class. Connor and Kadar, however, were headed to the same direction and walked briskly together, allowing Connor to voice his concerns.

"Maybe you shouldn't hang out with me anymore." Connor mumbled, at the end of his speech, "I'm not good for you."

Kadar shook his head in astonishment. "You can't be bad luck." he said, "And besides, I like to hang out with you. And if you don't believe me, ask Aveline and I'm sure she will say the same.

"Besides," Kadar added with a smirk. "I don't believe in bad luck."

Connor thanked Kadar for saying so, but his confidence was only bolstered ever so slightly.


	16. Chapter 16

The next week marked that Connor had been living with Haytham for about a month. That meant that Connor's social worker was going to come to visit to make sure that all was well.

Haytham was not at all worried; he had passed inspection before (they had sent a couple of representatives before he had taken custody of Connor to make sure that his house was safe and big enough to take care of him) and he was definitely going to pass it again. It wasn't like anything had really changed since now and then.

Haytham had received a call stating that Connor's social worker would be coming on Friday afternoon. When he had answered the call, Connor was working diligently on his homework at the kitchen table. Haytham had told Connor, of course, but judging by Connor's shocked expression when the social worker, Miss Stillman, walked through the door Friday afternoon, after school had let out for the day.

"Why is she here?" Connor asked, clearly surprised.

"I told you that Miss Stillman was coming, Connor," said Haytham, surprised. "Don't you remember?"

"No," said Connor, clearly truthfully.

Miss Stillman laughed. "Please, call me Lucy."

Lucy was young; Haytham guessed that she would be in her mid to late twenties, perhaps around twenty six. She had her hair pulled back into a loose ponytail, the loose blonde strands hanging around her face and shoulders. She had bright blue eyes that stood out against the pale skin of her face. Her clothing consisted of a freshly ironed black pencil skirt and a brown clipboard decorated with pink stickers was hugged to the breast of a silky white blouse.

Haytham couldn't help but think that she was pretty. Conventionally pretty, of course. However, Lucy was nothing compared to Ziio.

"Okay, so this is how this is going to work," said Lucy cheerfully. "I am going to tour the house. If you wouldn't mind, Mr. Kenway?"

"No, of course not," said Haytham quickly. "I'll be glad to show you around."

"Fantastic," said Lucy, scribbling something down furiously on her clipboard. "After the tour, I will interview each of you by yourselves."

"Brilliant," said Haytham, clapping his hands together. "I'll show you around then, shall I?"

"I'll work more on my homework," mumbled Connor, turning back to his books.

"Would you like to begin upstairs or downstairs?" Haytham asked smoothly.

"Upstairs will do," said Lucy, still sounding happy. "I would love to see Connor's room."

Haytham lead Lucy upstairs. He gave her the same basic spiel he gave Connor his first day on the house when he was giving him a tour. However, the only difference was that unlike Connor, Lucy seemed to be almost constantly taking notes on her clipboard and she seemed to be much more willing to ask follow up questions whenever Haytham mentioned something.

"How did you and Connor's mother meet?"

"How often do your father or your sister visit from London?"

"How long have you lived in this house?"

Haytham tried to answer honestly each time; anything to continue to be allowed to take care of Connor.

"Alright, Haytham, thank you very much for the tour," bubbled Lucy. "Now if you don't mind, I would like to speak to Connor briefly alone. Is there a place…?"

"Would the kitchen table alright?" Haytham asked.

Lucy grinned broadly at him causing Haytham to feel somewhat taken aback. "The kitchen table would be great!"

Haytham nodded and lead Lucy back to the kitchen. He rapped sharply on the doorframe to alert Connor of their presence.

"Connor? Mis- er, Lucy is going to talk to you for a little while. Would that be okay?" Haytham asked.

Connor nodded wordlessly. Lucy grinned at him and had a seat across from him, glancing at Haytham as she said, "Thank you once again. I will speak to you in a few minutes, once I have finished speaking to Connor."

Haytham nodded and slipped from the room. He stood just on the other side of the wall, shifting his weight back and forth on his feet. He knew that the social worker had wanted him to leave for a reason (Haytham knew as well as anyone that children were not as likely to speak the truth when their parents were present) and yet he was genuinely curious about what the two of them were talking about. Thus he pressed himself against the wall of the kitchen, next to the doorway, where he remained out of sight and silent.

"So, Connor, how have you been lately? It's been a little while since we've last seen each other," said Lucy pleasantly.

"Alright, I guess," mumbled Connor.

"Have you and Mr. Kenway been getting along?" asked Lucy.

"I suppose."

There was the sound of Lucy writing something down on her clipboard. "Do you find yourself getting into many arguments with him?"

"No, not really," said Connor. "A couple, maybe, but…"

"But…?" Lucy prompted. When Connor didn't reply, Lucy moved onto another question. "Whenever you've gotten into arguments with him has he ever gotten physical with you?"

"No, never."

More sounds of a pen scratching against a clipboard before, "Mr. Kenway tells me that you have enrolled in school. Do you have many friends there?"

"A couple," Connor said with obvious reluctance.

"Wonderful! Can you tell me their names?" Lucy said, writing something down yet again.

"Why do you need to know their names?" Connor challenged.

There was a pause. "Curiosity, mostly. Their names don't really need to be on the file, but details can't hurt."

Another moment of silence passed before Lucy sighed and said, "Well, I guess you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"I don't," said Connor flatly.

"Have any of your friends come to visit you at the house?" Lucy asked.

"No, not yet."

"Maybe you should invite them over sometime," suggested Lucy. "I think that socializing would be good for you."

"Whatever you say," said Connor with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

Lucy wrote something down on her clipboard again. "Alright, Connor. Thank you for…"

Haytham didn't catch the rest of her sentence because he immediately headed upstairs and began to pretend that he was busy looking over some papers, like he had been up there the whole time and not listening to their conversation.

Sure enough, he heard Lucy call through the house, "Mr. Kenway, I am ready for your interview now."

Haytham set his papers aside and headed back downstairs. Lucy was waiting for him in the hallway. "How about the livingroom?"

"Perfect," said Lucy.

Haytham poked his head back into the dining room. Connor hadn't moved. "We're just going to be in the living room if you need us."

"Why would I need you?" Connor asked.

Haytham went back into the living room to see that Lucy had made herself comfortable on the couch. Haytham sat down in the armchair next to the couch.

"So, Mr. Kenway, Connor tells me that you have gotten in a couple of arguments," said Lucy seriously. "Can you tell me what these were about, and how they were resolved?"

"Well once was because he left the house without telling me," Haytham said, tactfully avoiding telling her that Connor had been on the roof. "I ended up sending him to his room for the rest of the evening."

Lucy nodded, taking notes on her papers as he spoke. "Does Connor have many friends? Is he a very social boy?"

"I don't think he's very social," said Haytham with a slight frown. "However, he does have two friends that he talks to on a regular basis; Aveline de Grandpré and Kadar Al-Sayf. He also plays with my neighbor's son, Desmond Miles, a lot. He also gets along with his babysitter, who's the elder brother of Kadar."

"That's good," said Lucy. "He's always been very quiet. I'm glad to hear that he has people that he can talk to. I suggested to him that he perhaps have his friends over sometime."

"Sounds like a brilliant idea," said Haytham smoothly.

"Now, you are a teacher, correct? What do you teach?"

"English."

"How is Connor doing in school?"

"He's doing fine," said Haytham truthfully. "It's been strange for him to come in in the middle of the year like this but he's been working hard to catch up. He did briefly have a problem with one of my co-workers but I discussed the problem with both of them and Connor promised to tell me if there are any more problems."

"Alright, Mr. Kenway, I think that that's all I need from you," said Lucy, standing up. "For the next eleven months I will come to do a check up. After that, if you continue to prove that you are a competent guardian for Connor there will be a check in once a year until he turns eighteen. Otherwise Connor will be taken out of your home. Do you understand?"

"Yes," said Haytham smartly, standing up.

"I think you are doing an excellent job thus far, however," Lucy said. "Thank you for your time and I will see you exactly a month from now."


	17. Chapter 17

"Good morning, Connor," said Haytham the next morning when Connor went downstairs. Haytham was sitting at the table with a couple of reports from some of his students. From in the doorway, Connor could see that he had just finished reading Malik's paper.

"Um, morning," Connor said carefully.

Yesterday, when the social worker came, he had thought about telling her about Mr. Lee. He could have told her that he was picking on Connor, Aveline, and Kadar for seemingly no reason at all. However, Connor was certain that Miss Stillman wouldn't believe him. Connor had dealt with social workers before and it always seemed to him like they were just humoring everything that the kids ever said.

That was nothing new, of course. No one ever really listened to people his age.

"As soon as you're ready we can head out to lunch," said Haytham. "I'm ready when you are. Just say the word."

Connor nodded and immediately turned and headed back upstairs getting dressed quickly so that they could head out as soon as possible.

The car ride was mostly in silence, as it always was; they always saved their conversations for the actual diner.

"So," said Haytham once they had taken their seats in their usual booth. "What did you think of Lucy yesterday?"

Connor hesitated. "Okay, I guess. She seemed… excited. About everything."

Haytham smirked. "Yes, I got that impression myself," he said. "She told me that we can expect to see her again in about a month."

"I know. That's what she always says," said Connor, nodding.

Haytham's smirk fell slightly into a frown. Connor didn't particularly feel like asking why. Once again they sat in silence until Rebecca came to take their order.

"The English Department is having a meeting on Monday evening so I will have to get Malik to come babysit for you again," said Haytham, pressing on.

Connor raised his eyebrows at the man opposite. Although he felt that he didn't need a babysitter (Connor was a teenager now; he felt that he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself) he did think that it was sort of fun spending time with Malik. He was funny, when he wanted to be, and he always let Connor watch a movie when he had finished his homework.

"I was also thinking that you could have Kadar over," said Haytham.

Connor's head jerked up. "What? Really?"

Haytham nodded. "Lucy said that it would be a good idea for you to have some of your friends over sometime for your social health. And I figured that if we are already going to have Malik over to watch you it probably wouldn't be too much trouble for Kadar to come along as well."

Connor was in turmoil; as much as he wanted to deny everything that Miss Stillman had said he did want to spend more time around his friend.

"So? What do you think?" Haytham prompted.

"Alright," said Connor, attempting to sound begrudging.

"Fantastic," said Haytham. "I will call them as soon as we get back home.

"In the meantime, why don't you tell me what you're learning about in your classes?"

* * *

After Haytham had called the Al-sayfs, he told Connor that Kadar was absolutely _thrilled_ to be invited over.

On Monday, after math class (where both Connor and Kadar had been held into their lunch break) Kadar told Connor how excited he was.

"Malik said that his friend Altaïr could borrow his car so he's going to drop us off at your house at around five thirty," said Kadar excitedly.

"Oh," said Connor. "The principal's grandson?"

"That's the one," said Kadar brightly. "He's kinda cool, I guess."

"I don't know," said Connor. "I only ever really spoke to him once."

"Malik and Altaïr have known each other for years now," Kadar went on.

"Last time Malik came to babysit for me we got to watch a movie after we finished our homework," Connor said. "Hopefully he'll let us do that tonight."

"I can bring movies," Kadar offered.

The bell rang. Connor, Kadar, and Aveline made their goodbyes, grabbed their bags and headed to their respective classes, Connor heading to science with Mr. Vidic.

For the rest of the day, Connor thought about Kadar coming over later. He even got in trouble with Mr. Dorian in French for not paying attention. Connor surprised himself in that he was actually excited. The last time he had had someone over to his house (other than babysitters) was Kanen'tó:kon _months_ before his mom died.

As much as Connor was reluctant to admit it, Miss Stillman was right. Maybe this would be good for him.

* * *

Connor spent the evening with Haytham pretending to do his homework when in reality he was waiting for five thirty to come along so that he could hang out with Kadar.

Four o'clock. Connor was still working on his math homework. He liked to get it out of the way first, so that he could get as much done as possible for the next day so that Mr. Lee couldn't give him a hard time about it.

Four thirty.

Five o'clock. They only had a half an hour left. Connor was not worried.

Five fifteen.

Five twenty. Usually Malik was there by then; he liked to be early for things. However, Connor remembered that Malik's friend, Altaïr, was driving, so maybe they would be there exactly on time. Connor didn't know. He still was definitely not worried.

Five thirty. Connor stared at the door, waiting for Malik and Kadar to knock. They should be here any second now...

Five thirty five. Where were they?

Five fourty. Ten minutes late. Connor could tell that Haytham was getting impatient now.

Five fourty five. Maybe there was a lot of traffic? Connor glanced out of the window. The street was empty.

At five fifty five, Haytham began to pace back and forth.

"This is mad," he grumbled. "I'm going to be late. Where are they?"

At six o'clock exactly, Haytham seemed to officially give up and called Malik and Kadar's mother. Connor couldn't make out the details of their conversation, but the woman on the other line seemed to be in hysterics.

"Slow down! Junah, I can't-" Haytham stammered. "Can you-?" All at once, the blood drained from Haytham's face. "What?"

Connor stared at him, his eyebrows drawn together. He mouthed, _What's going on?_ but Haytham waved him away. The woman on the other end of the line continued to scream and cry and babble as Haytham clutched the phone to his face, which was as white as a sheet.

"Okay, okay. I- I'll be there as soon as I can," Haytham stammered.

He hung up the phone and before Connor had the chance to ask what was happening, Haytham punched in another number. "Hello? Yes, this is Haytham Kenway. I'm afraid that I won't be able to come to the meeting tonight. There's been an accident."

Connor's eyes widened in horror. _An accident?_

Haytham once again hung up the phone. He turned to look at Connor, his eyes hollow. "I need to go."

"What happened? What do you mean there was an accident? Where are Malik and Kadar?" Connor demanded.

"Connor, for God's sake, please just listen," Haytham said nervously. "I have to go. You are not to leave the house. Do you understand?"

"No, I don't! What's going on?" Connor asked.

"Connor, I will explain as soon as I get back!" said Haytham, grabbing his coat. "I'll be back soon!"

Haytham slammed the door behind him and Connor could hear the sound of a lock sliding into place. Connor blinked a couple of times trying to comprehend what had just happened. _An accident? Was everyone okay?_

Connor bit his lip, thinking. If there was an accident of some sort it would be on the news, right?

Connor slid out of his chair and headed into the living room. He turned on the television and flipped it to the news channel, where a plucky blonde woman was talking about the weather forecast for the next week.

"Come on… come on…" Connor muttered.

"In other news, there has been a car accident on Solomon Street…" said a man.

The weather map disappeared to reveal a headline that read, "TWO DEAD AND ONE IN CRITICAL CONDITION DUE TO CAR WRECK; DRUNK DRIVING THOUGHT TO BE THE CAUSE" and the image of a darkened street.

The camera panned away from the street to reveal a munched up burning car that was laying on its side, surrounded by cop cars and a couple of ambulances. Connor's heart leaped up into his throat, because he recognized that car; that car unmistakably belonged to Malik.


	18. Chapter 18

Wooooooow, sorry for all of the depressing chapters. If I can I'll try to have a cheerful one within the next couple of posts, but that's only if I can work one in without it being awkward. But hey, remember that one of the tags for this is tragedy, so...

I would also like to take this moment to thank everyone who has been taking the time to comment. It really makes me happy to receive feedback and see that people are still enjoying my stories. (Also having people comment makes me want to post more often)

* * *

The accident was all anyone spoke about at school the next week. Although there were many rumors about what had happened, what roughly happened was this; Altaïr, Malik, and Kadar were in the car. The former of the three was driving. They were all headed somewhere (none of the students really knew for sure where. Some said that they were touring colleges, others said that they were on their way to a party) when Altaïr sped up to get through a yellow light… where they were t-boned by another car, whose driver (a man named Robert de Sable) had been drunk driving.

Kadar and de Sable were both killed on impact. Malik was immediately rushed to the nearest hospital where his arm had to be amputated. The final member of their party, on the other hand, Altaïr, had been lucky; he escaped with only a concussion and a few cuts and bruises; including a very noticeable cut that bisected his lips. He returned to school on Wednesday, looking vacant and confused, only to be surrounded by a bunch of people who were demanding to know what had happened.

Haytham was worried. Not only about Malik, but about Connor as well. He had taken the car crash particularly hard and seemed to withdraw even further. Haytham had tried to talk to him about it, but Connor would not budge. He was barely eating, always staring off into space. Haytham contemplated calling his social worker to tell her what had happened, or at the very least finding a child psychologist that Connor could talk to, but Haytham was worried that somehow he would be blamed for this and that he would lose custody of Connor which was the last thing he wanted; Connor needed him more than ever now.

Although, in a way, Haytham supposed that it was his fault. If he hadn't asked them to come babysit, they probably wouldn't have been in the car and they wouldn't have… Haytham tried not to think about it.

On Wednesday, after class had let out, the school staff had called a meeting. Haytham suggested that Connor wait for him in the library. Of course, he did so without protest. He hadn't really spoken since the accident unless he had to.

Haytham took his usual seat at the meeting table. Charles plopped down next to him. Haytham stared at him suspiciously; he was still sort of angry at him for the rather rude things he had said about Connor in the Morrigan. Plus, there was also the way that Charles was smirking just then and the way he was leaning back so casually in his chair where as the few other teachers in the room was so somber.

"Shame about what happened to those kids, isn't it?" Charles said, not looking remorseful in the slightest. "However, I should have known that they would come to such a _sticky_ end…"

"What a ghastly thing to say!" Haytham growled.

"I'm sorry to be blunt, but they weren't very good people, de Sable and the youngest Al-Sayf," said Charles. "I had them both in my classes at one point or another. I wasn't surprised when I heard that de Sable was a drunk. I wouldn't be surprised if Al-Sayf-"

"Would you hold your tongue?" Haytham hissed. This was not okay. This was downright disrespectful. Haytham suddenly wasn't sure why he became friends with this man in the first place.

Haytham was not certain, but he felt that Charles was jealous that Haytham had been spending so much of his time and energy on Connor, and not on his classes or students or perhaps even Charles himself. That had to be the reason why Charles was mad at him. In which case, Charles needed to grow the hell up.

"Say, weren't those children headed to your house when they-?" Charles drawled.

Haytham stood abruptly and grabbed Charles by the collar of his shirt, causing the other teachers present in the room to collectively gasp. His arm was back and he was prepared to punch him as he hissed, "Now you listen here, Charles. Connor and I-"

A couple of other teachers started to intervene. Shaun Hastings and Arno Dorian had to pull Haytham away from Charles, while Rodrigo Borgia and Arbaaz Mir pulled Charles away.

"What the hell are you doing?" demanded Shaun to Haytham.

"Look, we're all upset," Arno began. "But we can't just get into fights. We would be setting a bad example for the children."

"Yes, because there are so many children in the room right now," Charles said sarcastically.

"I wouldn't have had to get into a fight if Charles hadn't-" Haytham began.

"Haytham, just let it go for now," said Arbaaz soothingly, putting his hand on Haytham's shoulder.

At that moment, the principal and the rest of the teachers filed into the room. Haytham looked around, swallowed, and nodded. Charles looked at him smugly as he dusted off his shirt and sat back down. Haytham grabbed his bag and moved to the other side of the table with Shaun so that he wouldn't have to look at Charles any more.

"Now that we are all here we may begin," said the principal. "I'm sure you all know of the tragedy that took place the other night involving three of our current students and one of our former students."

There were murmurs of agreement.

The principal continued, "I believe that we should do something for the students who personally knew Kadar Al-Sayf and Robert de Sable."

 _Why do something for Robert de Sable?_ Haytham thought rudely. _He was a drunk; he was the reason why Kadar is dead and Malik is so badly injured._

"Perhaps we can allow the students a day off for the funerals, if they wish to attend?" suggested Isabelle Ardant.

"Or we could have an assembly addressing the issue of traffic safety?" Stede Bonnet said.

Everyone kept throwing out different ideas for another hour or so. Eventually they came to the conclusion that they would announce the dates of the funeral to the student (with the permission of Kadar's and de Sable's families, of course) and have an assembly on Friday where they talked about how to stay safe while driving.

To be honest, though, Haytham wasn't really listening for the majority of the meeting. He found the whole thing rather depressing.

When Mr. Mualim decided that they had discussed everything that they wanted to discuss, he let everyone go. Haytham got out of the room as quickly as possible to avoid seeing Charles and immediately headed to the library where he found Connor sitting dutifully at one of the tables, reading a book.

"Are you ready to go, Connor?" Haytham asked heavily.

Connor nodded, but did not speak. He stood and began to gather his things.

The two of them headed out to Haytham's car together, neither of them saying a single word.


	19. Chapter 19

Nearing the end of the day on Friday, all of the students crowded into the school auditorium. The room itself was rather small, but that was no matter; many students ended up sitting on the floor, while the teachers lined the walls. Usually, when there is a school assembly, there are many students that tried to get out of it by going to hide in the bathroom, or students that were talking to each other or looking at their phones. However, in this particular assembly, the room was dead silent and there was not a phone to be seen.

Connor sat next to Aveline. Neither of them were looking at each other, although their postures were stiff and out of the corner of his eye Connor could see Aveline's cinnamon eyes tearing up slightly as his own hands twisted and knotted in his lap.

On the stage, Principal Mualim walked back and forth with his hands folded behind his back. Behind him was a huge slideshow slipping fluidly through photographs of car accidents, little cartoons of frowny faces and paramedics, and pictures of Kadar and Malik when they were younger.

"Everyday, many people are involved in car accidents," the principal droned on. "Unfortunately, lots of people are injured or killed in these accidents, like our friends Malik and Kadar Al-Sayf. Just the other year there were over two thousand deaths. Drunk driving is the nation's most frequently committed violent crime."

Connor felt numb. He felt like the world around him had simply washed away and that he was floating in space. Nothing else was there. Everything was gone, everything had changed…

Connor remembered feeling similar when his mother died.

"Studies have found that twenty one to thirty four year olds make up approximately half of all the drunk drivers that are in alcohol-related fatal accidents, just like Robert de Sable was. They are also responsible for more fatal accidents than any other age group, and seem to have the highest blood alcohol content," Mr. Mualim continued. "This is where the biggest problem is. Every single injury and death caused by a drunk driver is completely preventable."

Connor felt Aveline put her hand on his knee and only then realized that he was shaking slightly. Connor looked over at her sideways and she mouthed, " _It's going to be okay._ "

Connor stiffened to prevent himself from shaking more and looked forward at Mr. Mualim pointedly, not responding to his friend.

"In the name of Kadar and Malik Al-Sayf, I challenge you to _never_ drink and drive. If you feel even a little bit tipsy, do not get behind the wheel of a car. Once you are of legal drinking age, have a designated driver before going out. If you…" Mr. Mualim continued on and on.

" _What a windbag_ ," Connor couldn't help but think.

"Thank you," the principal finished eventually.

Behind him, on stage, was an enormous picture of Malik and Kadar when they were younger, the former probably around seven or eight and the latter probably around three or four. Malik had his left arm draped around Kadar, who was gripping a fishing pole tightly with both hands. Both of them were grinning wildly at whomever was taking the picture, likely their mom or their dad.

There was a noticeable pause in the room before there was a flurry of movement of students grabbing their bags and standing, beginning to exit the room. Aveline grabbed Connor's wrist and pulled him to his feet, which he was silently grateful for as the numbness had spread to his legs.

Aveline lead the way to one of the less crowded side doors, dragging Connor along with her.

"Shall we…?" Aveline began, once they were outside of the auditorium.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Connor muttered.

Aveline bit her lip and nodded. Together they made their way to one of the less crowded halls. Connor leaned against one of the lockers. He slid down to the floor and hugged his knees to his chest while he tried to gain control of himself.

Aveline hovered dutifully until Connor muttered, "I can't stay here."

"Are you still sick?" Aveline asked.

"I need to go home," Connor whispered.

"Do you want me to get your dad?"

"No," snapped Connor. _He wouldn't understand._

"I'll be right back," Aveline said.

Connor didn't move and didn't even look up when Aveline returned with Haytham. Haytham noticeably hesitated before he put his hand on Connor's back.

"Aveline said that you were sick?" Haytham asked.

Connor bit his lip. "Maybe a little," he admitted reluctantly.

"Get up," said Haytham. "Let's get you home."

"Don't you have another class?" Connor asked hesitantly, finally looking up to see the concerned faces of both Aveline and Haytham.

"This is more important. C'mon," said Haytham, pulling Connor to his feet. "I will just get someone to stay in the classroom with them; it's not like we were doing anything.

"Thank you for telling me, Aveline," he added. "You may head back to class now."

Aveline shot a glance at Connor and nodded before scurrying off.

"I just need to get someone to keep an eye on my class," said Haytham, "and then we can go home and you can get some rest. Maybe you'll feel better after some rest."

Both Connor and Haytham knew that was not true, but Connor appreciated the thought anyways.


	20. Chapter 20

Haytham drove in silence. He had offered to bring Connor with him, but he had stated that he was still feeling ill, so Haytham let him sleep.

When Haytham arrived, he parked the car and walked through the front doors, approaching the front desk. A man sat at the counter, hands flying over a keyboard, and the name tag on his desk read Garnier de Naplouse. He held up one finger, indicating that Haytham should wait for a moment, before looking at him expectantly.

"Can I help you?" de Naplouse asked.

"I would like to pay a visit to someone, if he is available," said Haytham.

"Name?"

"Malik Al-Sayf?"

de Naplouse typed away at his computer. "He is meeting with an occupational therapist at the moment, and he should be done in about forty five minutes. Then there will be an hour before he meets with his physiotherapist. Would you like to wait?"

"I've got the time," said Haytham.

"Excellent," de Naplouse said. "I will call you up when he's ready, if he would like to see you."

Haytham sat down stiffly on one of the chairs in the waiting area. All around him, people were reading, or bustling around. Haytham's gaze rested on a worn, tired looking father and his two year old twins that were playing at his feet, fighting over a toy.

"No fair, Jacob!" shrieked the girl. "I saw it first!"

Another man was talking rapidly into his phone in what sounded to Haytham like Italian while his sister, a posh looking woman with a lot of makeup on, glared at him and gestured for him to be quieter.

" _Stai zitto, Cesare_ ," the fancy woman snarled. The man on the phone glared at her for a moment, but quieted down and continued to talk on the phone.

A young woman with black hair sat next to another woman with reddish hair. Both were obviously pregnant and were chatting happily with one another.

"Perhaps afta' the babies are born?" said the one with black hair.

"I dunno, Mary; England's the wrong way 'round the globe for an Irishwoman," said the redhead with a grin.

Haytham sighed and let his head drop back onto his chair. It was going to be a long wait, but it was going to be worth it.

Haytham picked up one of the magazines sitting on the table next to him and looked at it blandly. He read the words without really seeing them until he spotted someone he recognized, walking up to the main desk. He spoke with him briefly for a moment; de Naplouse looked doubtful and the boy looked worried. The boy nodded slightly and shot a glance around the room, seemingly nervously.

"Altaïr," Haytham called out.

Altaïr spotted his teacher and hesitated before walking over. Haytham noticed the stitches on the cut on his lip, both the cut and the stitches standing out starkly against his swarthy skin. Haytham also noticed the missing ring finger on his left hand, still covered in bandages. "Hello Mr. Kenway," he mumbled.

"Are you here to see Malik?" Haytham asked kindly.

Altaïr hesitated again. "Yes. I've… I've come twice now."

"How is he?" said Haytham, gesturing for Altaïr to sit down next to him. Altaïr sat down stiffly, his hands fidgeting in his lap.

"I- I don't know," Altaïr admitted. "He doesn't want to see me."

"You can come see him with me, if you like," Haytham said.

Altaïr looked doubtful, but nodded. The two sat in silence until de Naplouse waved the two of them up. He handed each of them a cartoony sticker that read, _I am a visitor :) My name is…_ Both Haytham and Altaïr were handed pens.

Once the name badges were on, a young nurse lead the both of them down the hall, taking them to the portion of the hospital reserved for long term patients. Along the way, they passed a doctor talking to a family, a woman sobbing hysterically outside of one of the rooms, a young boy in a wheelchair… Judging by the pallor of Altaïr's face, Haytham silently wondered if he was going to be sick.

"This is the one! According to his file, he should be finishing up with his occupational therapist," said the nurse, too brightly for Haytham's tastes. "Enjoy your visit!"

Altaïr and Haytham watched her go before the latter knocked on the door lightly. "You can come in," a woman's voice called out.

Haytham opened the door to the small hospital room. The first person he saw was an olive skinned woman with strands of dark hair peeking out from underneath a hat. In her hand she clutched a briefcase and a clipboard. The bed on which Haytham supposed Malik was resting had a curtain drawn.

"Malik, you have a couple of visitors," said the woman.

The curtain moved back and Malik looked over at the door. "Not _him_ ," he hissed scathingly, pointing at Altaïr.

"We've come to visit you," Haytham said smoothly.

"Make him leave," Malik growled.

"Perhaps you can wait outside for a little while?" the occupational therapist suggested to Altaïr.

Altaïr looked nervous and disappointed, but almost glad to have an excuse to escape the room. He and the therapist slipped outside into the hall, but Haytham assumed that Altaïr was going to continue to wait outside. Haytham sat down in an empty chair next to the bed that he assumed that the therapist had just vacated.

Malik looked, for lack of a better word, terrible. His eyes were exhausted and there were dark purple smudges under them. His hair was messy and Haytham could see cuts all over his face, likely from shattering glass at the crash. Haytham tried not to look at the compression sleeve over Malik's stump, where his left arm should have been.

"How are you?" Haytham asked, unsure of what else to say.

"Other than the obvious, you mean?" Malik asked sarcastically, shrugging his right shoulder carefully. His harsh gaze softened slightly. "Mostly I'm bored. There's absolutely nothing to do, unless my parents are visiting or the doctors or therapists are here."

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Haytham. "If I had thought about it, I would have brought you your school work."

"Honestly, even that would be preferable," said Malik with the ghost of a smile, before his face fell back into the miserable expression that it was before.

Haytham paused, trying to figure out what else to say. "How are you holding up, though, really?"

"It's hard," said Malik quietly. "I try not to think about… this…" He gestured vaguely at his left side. "And Ka…" Malik choked slightly.

Haytham nodded and remained silent. Malik shook his head and looked back up at Haytham. "How's Connor?"

"He's pretty upset," Haytham admitted. "He… he blames himself."

"Bring him around to the hospital sometime," said Malik. "I'd love a visit. And I'd be grateful if you could come to… the funeral. I think that _he_ would want Connor there too."

Haytham nodded. "I'll keep a visit in mind and we will definitely come to the funeral. Connor would have come today but he wasn't feeling very good."

"Well, tell him to get well soon," said Malik.

"I could say the same to you," Haytham replied. "And… I just wanted to say that I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," Malik said scathingly, shooting a glance towards the door, where they were both confident that Altaïr was still hovering outside.

"It's not entirely his fault, either, you know," said Haytham gently.

"Of course you would say that," snarled Malik.

"Talk to him," said Haytham. "The sooner this is resolved the better."

"It will never be resolved!" Malik said. "If he weren't for him running that light, Kadar and I-" Malik broke down and tears began to run down his face.

"Talk to him," Haytham urged again. "You _both_ need this."

Malik didn't say anything and looked pointedly away. Haytham stood up and moved over to the door. Sure enough, Altaïr was sitting right outside.

"You can come in, now, Altaïr," said Haytham.

"Really?" Altaïr asked, sulkily.

"Yes. I was just about to leave anyways," said Haytham. "I will see you both later."

Altaïr paused before stiffly walking into the room. The last thing that Haytham saw before shutting the door was Altaïr hesitantly asking Malik's permission to sit in the empty chair beside the bed.

 **Author's Note:**

I know, I know. That was two chapters really fast one after another. I can only hope that you'll forgive me. *sarcasm* This is more of a transitional chapter. We are getting close to what I believe will be the climax.

The people mentioned in this chapter (but not named) are Cesare and Lucrezia Borgia, Jacob, Evie, and Ethan Frye, Anne Bonny, Mary Read, and Rosa, if you hadn't guessed.

I also did some research for this chapter about recovering from an amputation. It was actually kind of interesting, if not kind of sad. I wanted to make this as realistic as possible, so I gave Malik all of the medical devices and professionals and therapists he needed.

Oh! Also while I was doing research on amputation recovery, I remembered the Indian Child Welfare Act. If I can I will find some way to incorporate that in here. I do have a plan, though; I've been hinting at it for a couple of chapters now.


	21. Chapter 21

"Connor," Haytham whispered in a hushed voice, shaking Connor awake gently.

Connor's eyes fluttered open and he squinted up at him tiredly. "What?" he groused.

"I was thinking that we could visit Malik in the hospital today," he said.

"Isn't it Saturday?" Connor yawned.

"Yes?" Haytham said, clearly wondering what his point was.

Connor frowned and fell silent as he tried to beat back his disappointment; he wondered if Haytham had even remembered their weekly lunch. Of course, Connor didn't exactly blame him, given what had happened to the Al-Sayfs, but he found himself wishing for at least some sort of normalcy after the accident.

"I'm not feeling well," lied Connor, turning his head away from Haytham to bury his face into his pillow.

He could still sense Haytham behind him for a moment before the man said, "Okay. Okay, Connor, that's perfectly alright. Maybe some other time soon, then. Go back to sleep, then."

Connor heard Haytham leave and quietly shut the door behind him.

The next thing Connor knew, there was sunlight streaming in from the window. Connor's gaze found the clock on the wall to see that it was about noon. He slid from his bed, taking a minute to stretch his arms over his head, before he wandered downstairs. Haytham was nowhere to be found.

Connor stood in the middle of the kitchen, staring down at his feet. " _I can't believe he forgot._ " If anything, this strengthened Connor's resolve of what he wanted… no, _needed_ to do.

Connor headed back upstairs, got dressed, and removed all of the books and school papers from his backpack, sliding them under his bed where Haytham was less likely to see them. Connor headed back downstairs and began to search the cupboards for nonperishable food; mostly he took things such as cans, jerky, or trail mix. After a moment's hesitation he took the hand-held can opener and a fork, loading all of this into his backpack. He hesitated again before taking some of the extra cash that he knew Haytham kept in the back of his closet. Connor felt bad, but he needed to do this. He paused for a moment before he slipped the framed picture of himself and Ziio into the bag too.

" _I can't stay here,_ " Connor repeated to himself over and over again. " _I can't stay here."_

Haytham called at about 12 o'clock. "Hello Connor."

"Oh, hello," replied Connor unenthusiastically.

Haytham paused. "I realized that I forgot about our lunch today."

"Yes," Connor agreed, shouldering his backpack.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Things have been… hectic, for lack of a better word. I sincerely apologize for forgetting."

Connor believed him, but he remained silent.

"Maybe we can do it tomorrow?" Haytham suggested.

"Sure," lied Connor. There was another moment of awkward silence before Connor said, "I was thinking about going over to play with Desmond."

"Oh," said Haytham. "Have a good time. I'm going to be home in a couple of hours; I need to run some errands. I'll see you soon."

"See you soon," Connor echoed.

The phone clicked and there was the sound of dial tone. Connor hung it back up and headed out the front door, the weight of his backpack heavy on his shoulders. Connor spotted Desmond running around in his front yard babbling to Achilles, who was clearly not paying attention to his charge. Desmond gave Connor a wave which the latter returned faintly.

" _I can't stay here_."

Connor continued on his trek down the sidewalk. Further down he saw an olive skinned teenage boy with long brown hair pulled back into a ponytail chatting up a Chinese girl about his age who was clearly not interested.

"Maybe on Sunday we can catch a movie?" the boy was saying.

" _I can't stay here_."

The next people he saw was his French teacher, Mr. Dorian, and a woman with bright red wavy hair. The two of them were holding hands and Mr. Dorian was saying, " _Mon amour_ …"

" _I can't stay here_."

Connor kept his head down until he reached the bus station. He read the map, paid for his ticket, and waited for the bus. Vaguely he wondered what time it was and if Haytham was home yet. He wondered if he even knew if Connor had left, or if he actually believed that Connor was off playing with Desmond.

It didn't matter, though, because Connor couldn't stay there. He needed to go home.

* * *

Yes, I know, it's a short chapter but it's an important one. Things are really starting to pick up. Honestly, I've been planning to have Connor run away for quite a while now. Actually, I think that I've been planning this since... jeez, August last year. In short, this has been a long time coming.

I want to take this opportunity to thank everyone who's been commenting; the comments really make me want to write more and it really shows me that people are still interested in this story. If people haven't been commenting, I likely would have abandoned this fic AGES ago. Once again, thank you very much for enjoying my writing so much! I take your feedback to heart every time.

I also updated the description.


	22. Chapter 22

Lots of dialogue in this chapter. Sorry.

* * *

Haytham came back later than he expected; there was an enormous line at the grocery store so he had to wait a while before he could buy everything. He felt apologetic not calling Connor, but he first of all had a hard time trying to figure out how to use his cell phone (these new technologies were sometimes so difficult to figure out). Haytham also figured that Connor was over at the Miles' house playing with their little boy.

"Connor? Can you come help me with these bags?" Haytham called out into the house. There was no reply.

" _That's fine,_ " thought Haytham. " _I'm glad he's off playing with Desmond; it'll help keep his mind off of poor Malik and Kadar._ "

Haytham quietly began to put all of the food away by himself. He didn't notice the missing cans and other food. He spent the rest of the afternoon doing mindless tasks such as tidying up the living room. Haytham tried to read, for a little while, until he realized that he was reading the same sentence over and over again.

It was around sunset that Haytham decided it was time for Connor to come back. He bookmarked his book (having not made any progress at all) and set it down on the coffee table before heading out the front door, making a beeline for the Miles' house.

Haytham pounded on the front door and it was a moment or so before Achilles answered it. Haytham frowned, less than pleased to see him, remembering the incident with the frisbee and Connor on the roof. Achilles looked up at Haytham, not looking too happy himself.

"I'm here to pick up Connor," said Haytham.

Achilles raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry?"

"Connor told me that he was over here playing with Desmond. You were watching them, correct?" asked Haytham.

"I am afraid that you are sorely mistaken," said Achilles. "I haven't seen Connor all day."

Haytham tried to beat back the panic that had swelled in his chest by reminding himself that Achilles clearly wasn't the best babysitter.

"That can't be right," Haytham insisted. "Connor told me that he was going to come over here."

Haytham noted Desmond peeking out from around Achilles' ankles as the old man spoke. "I do not know where Connor is but he isn't here."

"Are you look-king for Connor?" Desmond asked, peering up at Haytham with wide brown eyes.

"I am, actually," Haytham replied. "Have you seen him? It's time for him to come home."

"Come home?" Desmond repeated thoughtfully before he seemed to remember. "Ah! Earlier! I wanted him to come play but he didn't want to."

Haytham's eyes widened in horror. "What do you mean he didn't want to play?"

"He seemed busy. He had a BIIIIG backpack," Desmond said thoughtfully.

"Did he say where he was going?" Haytham asked, fighting to keep his voice calm.

"Nope!" said Desmond brightly. "He don't talk much."

"Didn't," corrected Haytham automatically. "When did you see him?" he demanded. "Tell me!"

Desmond looked alarmed and started to cry slightly. Achilles glared at Haytham and scooped the boy into his arms, making comforting noises until Desmond had calmed down.

"When did you see Connor, Desmond?" Haytham said.

"On the front lawn," said Desmond from Achilles' arms, his distress moments before apparently forgotten.

"The front lawn?" Achilles said, surprised, "That was nearly nine hours ago."

Haytham paled. "Nine-?" he said hoarsely.

"Has Connor been gone for that long?" Achilles asked, weary.

"I- I-" Haytham said, panicking.

Achilles sighed and set Desmond down, telling him to go play, before turning towards Haytham again. "I suggest that you call the police first and then drive around the neighborhood and see if you can find him. I will place a couple of calls myself to see if anyone I know has seen him."

"May I use your phone?" Haytham asked shakily.

"... Yes," said Achilles, pushing the door open and limping aside. "It is in the kitchen."

"Thank you!" Haytham gasped.

He bolted past the old man and found his way into the kitchen. Haytham quickly located the phone and punched in the phone number.

"911, what's your emergency?" said the operator.

"I need your help! My son has disappeared!" Haytham said urgently.

"Okay, what's the address?"

Haytham blurted out his home address and then added the Miles' address as an afterthought. From behind him, he could hear Achilles enter the room and observe him from the opposite wall. Desmond came up to Haytham and grabbed onto his pants leg, but Haytham payed him no mind.

"Okay, please stay on line. I am transferring you to the police department."

There was a click before someone said, "Police department."

"My son is missing!" said Haytham in a panic. "I- I wasn't home for much of the day, and the last person to see him was my neighbor's son almost nine hours ago!"

"Okay, how old is your son?"

"Fourteen years old."

"Alright, sir, can you tell me your name?"

"Haytham Kenway. H- A- Y- T- H- A- M K- E- N- W- A- Y," said Haytham clearly.

"Okay, and what's your son's name?"

"Connor. C- O- N- N- O- R."

"Same last name?"

"Yes."

"Alright. Is Connor's mother there?" asked the police officer.

"No," Haytham said nervously. "She's dead."

"Okay. Try to remain calm, sir. Can you provide me with a description of your son?"

"He has tan skin and dark hair. Biracial. Native American. He's- he's about 5'6 and he's got dark brown eyes. Fourteen years old."

"Do you know what he's wearing?" asked the officer.

"No, but it's likely he has his school backpack with him, which is blue and white," said Haytham, focusing on keeping his voice steady.

"Alright. Mr. Kenway, please try to remain calm. You're at your neighbor's house, correct?"

"Yes," said Haytham.

"I want you to stay there at the house. We've got a bunch of officers on the way."

"Thank you," Haytham gasped. "Thank you."

Haytham hung up the phone and stood there in the kitchen for a moment. It was going to be okay. It was going to be okay. They were going to find Connor. He probably just went for a walk and got lost. That was it. He was probably just overreacting.

"Did they help?" Achilles asked.

"They're sending a couple of officers over," Haytham breathed.

"Good," said Achilles, nodding in satisfaction. Desmond was still clutching Haytham's leg, oddly silent; if Haytham had had the presence of mind to think about it, he would probably think that the four year old was confused.

"Do you mind if I make another call?" Haytham asked timidly.

Achilles paused. "Sure, but then I need to call Bill to let him know what is going on."

Haytham punched in the number; after she had come, he memorized it by heart. It rang for several moments before someone picked up.

"This is Lucy Stillman," said the social worker.

"Miss S- Lucy, this is Haytham Kenway," he said, swallowing hard.

"Hello Haytham, how are you?" said Miss Stillman.

"I need to talk to you about Connor," said Haytham urgently.

"Of course," Miss Stillman said. "Is there a problem?"

Haytham didn't see the point of tiptoeing around it; it was better with these sorts of things (in Haytham's opinion) to come right out and say it. "Connor's gone missing."

Silence. "What do you mean?"

"I mean he's gone! I can't find him!" Haytham cried.

"Alright. Alright," said Miss Stillman, sounding like she was trying to figure something out.

"I called the police," Haytham added.

"Okay," Miss Stillman said. "Okay. Are you at home?"

"No, I'm at my neighbor's house," said Haytham.

"Alright. Stay where you are; I'm on my way. And Haytham?"

"Yes?"

"Try your best to stay calm."

"I- I will," Haytham gasped.

He hung up the phone and stood frozen for a moment, his hand on the receiver. Haytham could feel his heart beating against his ribcage and he felt like the world around him was churning and lurching uncomfortably. In that moment, he felt anything but calm.


	23. Chapter 23

When Connor got onto the correct bus, he handed the bus driver his money, despite the suspicious looks that he was giving him.

Connor glanced around the bus to see that the only available seat was next to an older looking woman with graying hair whom Connor guessed might be a librarian, judging by her clothes and the stack of books she held in her lap.

"U- um, do you mind if I sit here?" Connor asked quietly.

The woman looked up at Connor in surprise. "Absolutely," she said with a kindly smile.

Connor mumbled a thank you and sat down in the seat stiffly. He held his backpack on his lap and tried to make himself as small as possible, so as not to bother the woman. Connor stared at his feet and remained silent, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone.

"Are you going into the city?" asked the librarian as the bus lurched into motion, making Connor slide forward slightly into the seat. Connor nodded silently. "Is it your first time?"

"Um, no," said Connor reluctantly.

"That's nice, dear," the librarian said. "My name is Sophia, by the way. What's your name?"

Connor paused. "My parents say I'm not supposed to talk to strangers."

"Your parents are absolutely right," said Sophia smartly.

Connor sighed and settled into his seat; maybe that would make Sophia stop talking? He _really_ wasn't in the mood for idle conversation at the moment.

"What are you going into the city for?"

 _Damn it._

"To visit my mom," Connor said, still with obvious reluctance that Sophia seemed to be ignoring.

"Oh, that's nice," said Sophia cheerfully. "I just came out here to visit a couple of friends of mine. Where's your dad?"

Connor looked up at her, not bothering to hide his irritation in the slightest. "Out here," he said, gesturing vaguely outside of the window with the little town rolling by.

"Oh, I see," said Sophia. "Are your parents separated?"

"Yes," Connor hissed scathingly.

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Sophia.

Connor started to look pointedly in the other direction. Sophia made a couple of brief attempts at conversation again, all of which Connor ignored. Eventually, she stood and said, "Well, it was nice talking to you, Connor. I hope you have a good time visiting your mom."

Connor moved his legs and backpack to let her pass before moving into the seat that she had just vacated. He glanced around the bus to see that there were several empty seats before he placed his backpack on the seat next to him so that no one would try to sit next to him. He settled into his seat (as much as he could; bus seats are incredibly uncomfortable) and leaned his head against the window next to him.

It was only a matter of time before Connor fell asleep.

"Hey! Hey kid!" Someone was poking Connor's shoulder.

Connor blinked his eyes open and blearily looked into the kindly face of the bus driver. The man had swarthy skin and long black hair with a band over his forehead. His name badge read "Yusuf Tazim" in comic sans.

"End of the line, I'm afraid," said the bus driver.

Connor's eyes widened and looked around the bus wildly. Sure enough, he and the bus driver were the only ones there. Connor was grateful to see that his backpack was still on the seat next to him.

"Do you know where you're going?" the bus driver asked.

"Uh, where am I?"

The bus driver told Connor exactly what street they were on and which way the bus was facing. Connor realized with a jolt that they actually weren't too far away from his old apartment.

"Yes, I know where I am," Connor said, trying to beat back his excitement.

The bus driver nodded. "Alright. You be careful, now; the city can be dangerous at night."

"I know," said Connor, snatching up his backpack. "Thank you!"

He started to rush over to the door. The bus driver didn't say anything as he watched him go. After Connor was safely off of the bus, he saw the bus pull away, its digital sign now reading "garage."

The street was mostly empty, save for a couple of drunk people laughing loudly on the corner of one of the streets. It was dark, and when there were street lights their yellow light was dim or flickering. Many of the cars on the street seemed to have parts missing or were broken down entirely. The buildings lining the street were made mainly of bricks and if there were any plants in the planter boxes on the windowsills they were wilting or dead. A couple of walls in the allyways were covered in graffiti with stuff that didn't really make sense to Connor, such as "The Order is the way" or "Everything is Permitted."

Sure, it wasn't the best part of the city, but it was the best that his mom could afford. It was home. She had been working on saving up for an apartment in a better neighborhood, but with the same school district so that Connor wouldn't have to leave his friend, Kanen'tó:kon; his mother didn't know that Connor knew that she was saving up for it. In fact, Connor was pretty sure that she wanted it to be a surprise.

Connor hoisted his backpack up and started to speed up towards where his apartment was; he knew the streets by heart and knew just where to go and where to turn.

 _There._

It looked a lot like the other apartments surrounding it, except for the obvious fire damage. Many of the bricks on the upper floors were blackened and dark and the windows were broken. There was still caution tape in the shape of an X over the main entrance to the building, though it was obvious that there was no one inside.

So much had happened there. So many mornings eating a fast breakfast in the morning. So many afternoons spent doing homework. So many evenings talking to Kanen'tó:kon. So many nights sitting on the couch with his mother, watching Jeopardy.

"Did you finish your homework, Ratonhnhaké:ton?" she would ask.

"Yes, I have, ista," Connor would always say.

"Good," his mother would say. "Then we can relax."

They would sit together until about nine thirty, when his mother would send Connor to bed with a kiss on the forehead and a quick, "Konnorónhkwa."

Connor felt a lump in his throat. It felt like so long ago that he had tried to run into the building to rescue his mother; at the same time, it felt like only yesterday.

Connor couldn't stay there for the night. He knew that it wouldn't be likely, but a strange part of him had been hopeful all the same. It was time to move on. He knew that there was a park relatively nearby. Perhaps he could stay there for the night before moving on.

* * *

I hate those people that try to talk to you on the bus; I'm trying to get somewhere, not look for company.

Quick translation: "Ista" means mother and "Konnorónhkwa" means I love you in the Kanien'kehá:ka language.


	24. Chapter 24

Haytham felt like he was answering the same question over and over and over again. Yes, he had been gone for most of the day. No, he hadn't seen Connor at all since he had left for the hospital. Yes, he had spoken to him over the phone.

After the police arrived, Haytham, Achilles, and Desmond had moved back to the former's house. Haytham had made himself and Achilles a cup of tea to help him calm down; it was a habit he had picked up from his mother when he was a teenager that he had never really gotten rid of. He had also warmed up a small cup of milk for Desmond,

All things considered, however, Achilles looked like he wanted to go home and was not at all happy to be in Haytham's house, continually complaining that he needed to take the pain medicine for his knee, even all the while the police interviewed him and Haytham.

"Alright, Mr. Kenway," said a man who called himself 'Officer Rogers,' "We have sent several officers to search the general area. We sent them the image of the picture you have provided us with so they know exactly what they're looking for. We have also sent out an Amber Alert with the same image to all of the local news and radio stations and to people's cell phones."

Haytham swallowed and nodded; he had given them a copy of the picture that had come with Connor's file.

"Try not to worry overly much," Officer Asquith said. "It won't help Connor and it won't help you."

"Get some rest," suggested Officer Rogers. "Go to sleep and we will call you if there are any updates."

"I can't yet," Haytham sighed miserably. "I have to wait for Connor's social worker. She said that she would come…"

"Well, rest as much as you can," Officer Asquith insisted. She put her hand gently on Haytham's shoulder and added, "Call if there is any update on your end."

Haytham nodded dumbly and continued to sit on the couch, staring at nothing as he sipped his tea, while the police made their way out the front door. He glanced at Desmond, who was asleep near his feet. Silently, Haytham tried to picture Connor when he was that young and innocent. Waves of guilt washed over him.

"I have to get home too," said Achilles abruptly. "And get Desmond to bed."

Haytham nodded and said absently, "Sure."

Achilles moved to scoop up Desmond. The child did not stir and instead nestled into his babysitter's shoulder. Once again, Haytham tried to picture Connor in that way.

The old man shifted from foot to foot awkwardly like he wanted to say something. "Good luck," said Achilles eventually, limping towards the front door and letting himself out.

Haytham sat in silence, his mind swirling. He stayed where he was on the couch, frozen, waiting for the police to call, but they never did. He stared off into space, every now and then taking a sip of his tea which had long gone cold.

Haytham found himself thinking hard about what Connor was like when he was younger. Again. What was he like before Ziio died? Happier, Haytham imagined. Not as quiet. More willing to talk. Other than that, Haytham had absolutely no idea. The thought depressed him and he desperately wished that he had been there for both his son and Ziio. If he had been there, would he have been able to help them? Maybe even save her?

" _No_ ," Haytham told himself sharply, " _It's no good to think that way_."

The phone rang and Haytham scrambled over to it in what he was sure was a very undignified manner. "Hello?" he asked eagerly, thinking that it might have been the police with an update of Connor's whereabouts.

"Mr. Kenway." It was Malik. Even over the phone he sounded terrible. "I called as soon as I saw the news report. What happened?"

"Malik, are you alright?" Haytham asked, trying not to sound too disappointed.

"Mr. Kenway, what happened?" Malik demanded, not answering Haytham's question. "Where is Connor?"

Haytham hesitated. "I have no idea where he is," he said, worried. "He ran away while I was… visiting you in the hospital."

"Oh," said Malik guiltily. "I-"

"Don't worry," Haytham interrupted with confidence that he did not feel. "They'll find him soon."

"I'm sorry," Malik said anyways.

"There's no need to apologize," said Haytham quickly. "You've got enough to worry about as it is."

There was no humor in Malik's voice when he replied, "You're right."

The two remained silent for a moment before Haytham said, "There is no news as of yet, but I can keep you updated if you want."

"That would be great," said Malik, sounding relieved. There was another pause before Malik said, "Thank you."

Haytham heard a click on the other end of the line, letting him know that Malik had hung up. Haytham swallowed heavily and moved back towards the couch, sitting back down. He was about to take another sip of his tea, but then he realized it was ice cold and moved to dump out the cold tea and make some more.

Several people called throughout the rest of the night, each of them expressing varied forms of worry or panic. Shaun Hastings. Arno Dorian. Rebecca Crane. Even the bartender, Shay Cormac, whom Haytham knew had never met Connor, had called to give Haytham support. Haytham felt grateful, truly, but he still felt hollow. Numb.

Even though all of the people called, Haytham noticed that Charles did not call or leave any sort of message for Haytham at all.

Lucy Stillman arrived around midnight.

Haytham had been sitting on the couch again, of course. He had been unable to fall asleep due to the anxiety of losing Connor in addition to the frequent phone calls. He was jerked violently out of his thoughts when Lucy pounded on the front door. Once again, Haytham scrambled quickly to his feet and ran over to the front door.

"I came as soon as I could," said Lucy. "May I come in?"

"Please," Haytham replied, stepping aside to let her inside.

Lucy crossed the threshold and looked around at the living room skeptically before taking a seat.

"Would- would you like some tea?" Haytham asked worriedly.

"No thank you," said Lucy, peering at him. Haytham nodded and sat down stiffly. "Tell me everything that has happened since we have spoken last."

Haytham nodded slowly and started to speak. He told her everything; the car crash, Malik's injury, Kadar's death. The assembly, how Connor said he wasn't feeling well, Haytham's visit to the hospital. Everything he thought to tell her spilled out of his mouth as Lucy nodded along, her hands clenched in her lap and her fingers woven together.

"Alright Mr. Kenway," said Lucy slowly. "I have heard your side of things, now." She watched him carefully as she continued, "I will have you know that a dysfunctional familial structure is common in runaway youth."

Haytham nodded, wondering what she was getting at; of course their family was going to be "dysfunctional." He was a single dad working to support himself and his son. Connor's mother was dead. There was no way that they were going to be a normal, nuclear family.

"In these instances, abuse is a common factor," Lucy went on seriously.

Haytham's eyes widened in shock, staring at her. "You're not implying-"

"Forty-three percent of runaway youth report some form of physical abuse before leaving home," stated Lucy grimly.

Haytham stood up, his fists clenched and shaking at his sides. "How dare you accuse me of-"

"I'm not saying that that is necessarily true in this instance," said Lucy, her expression cool. "However, we must entertain the possibility."

"I would never-" Haytham started again, furious.

"Once Connor is located, and he _will_ be located, we will be questioning him about if you have been hurting him," said Lucy.

"But I-" protested Haytham yet again.

"That means," said Lucy, cutting him off, "that once he is found you will not be able to see him until we can figure out just why he ran away."


	25. Chapter 25

Connor woke up slowly. For a moment or so, he could not remember where he was or what had happened the previous day. However, as he opened his eyes, the everything that had happened came flooding back to him.

Connor felt a twinge of guilt about running away for a moment or so- Haytham was bound to be worried about him- but he did not feel guilty enough to decide to go back. Not yet, at least. He needed to get away.

He had found a park bench to sleep on the previous night. Connor had to walk several blocks to get to the park, avoiding some of the more dangerous streets along the way and taking detours whenever he saw someone else walking alone.

The park was, of course, empty when Connor had arrived save for a couple of other people sleeping on the benches. There were no people walking on the paths, no children playing on the playground near by. The lights that were working were dim or flickering, but many of them had gone out completely and hadn't been replaced.

Connor had chose one of the benches that was a decent distance away from the rest of the homeless people sleeping on them so that they (hopefully) wouldn't notice him and so that Connor's path would have been clear so that he could have run away if necessary, whether it be from people looking to mug him, people telling him to leave, or police officers looking to return him to Haytham.

Connor curled up on the bench, using his backpack as a pillow and tried to curl up to be as small as possible to conserve as much heat as he could. However, when he woke up, he found that his clothes were covered in morning dew and everything was damp. Connor felt like he was going to cry in frustration.

Connor sat up and started to brush and shake off as much dew as he possibly could, noticing that it was still early morning and many of the homeless people that had been there when Connor fell asleep were gone, although a few of them were milling about, packing their things.

A homeless man with a long, black, scraggly beard was walking down the path closest to Connor, pushing a shopping cart full of empty bottles. When he caught the teenager staring, he sneered at him and sneered. Connor shrank back into himself, but his expression turned defiant when the man saw what Connor was doing and laughed.

"Best buy yerself a tarp, boy," cackled the man.

Connor continued to glare at the man with more confidence than he really felt. The bearded man guffawed again and added, "An' ye be'er get yerself outta 'ere before the cops come. They usually c'me 'ere 'round seven o'clock."

He continued on his path, humming a tune which Connor thought sounded like "Drunken Sailor." Connor stared after him for a few minutes to make sure that he was truly going to leave before he began to pack up his things (which did not take him very long, as he just needed to grab his backpack, really); if the police really _were_ going to come soon, he did not want to be there.

Connor needed a plan. He couldn't just wander around the city by himself; he had lived there long enough to know that that was a good way to get yourself mugged. Or killed. Or at the _very_ least beaten up. Especially all three if you were young and you were alone.

Connor dug one of his cans out of his bag and opened it before he began to walk, slowly piecing together what he would do as he ate the cold spaghetti-o's. He would see if his old best friend could help him. Connor was _certain_ he would. They had known each other since they were four, after all. And if he couldn't… Well, Connor understood. He would just leave.

Connor wouldn't go far, though; he needed to stay in the area so that he could stay close to his mother. That way he could visit her when ever he wanted.

Speaking of his mother, he needed to see her before he went to find Kanen'tó:kon. There was no option.

Connor knew the way, of course. Every twist, every turn, every street. It was as if the directions had been engraved onto his very heart.

That area of the city was only slightly safer in the day time than it was at night. They were a good distance away from the "wealthier" part of the city where the annual marathon usually was and where there were lots of tourists touring areas and buildings that had been important during the American Revolution. While there were still creeps and thugs and criminals in his old neighborhood, Connor noted that they mostly tried to stay in the alleyways and as a result tried to stay away from them, even if going through them would meant that he would get to his mother all the sooner.

On the other hand… Connor was still soaking wet from the morning dew. He didn't even realize that there was _that_ much, but he felt soaked to the core and was freezing. Maybe that man was right; maybe he should get a tarp. He still had a little bit of money, after all.

Connor began to veer towards where he knew the nearest convenience store. There was a pale-skinned man standing at the counter when he entered, looking incredibly bored, wearing a nametag that read Liam O'Brien. Liam's eyes were glazed and they only flicked over towards Connor briefly when he entered before they went back to staring off into space.

Connor had been to that convenience store many times before. In fact, sometimes he would get off of his school bus early to pick up a bar of chocolate for himself and his mom, if he had enough money for it. He didn't recognize Liam, however, but that didn't mean much.

Connor walked through and around the aisles, looking around for a tarp. When he couldn't find one, he walked up to the counter. He worked up the courage to mutter, "Tarp?"

Liam's bored eyes slipped over to Connor again and stared at him for a long moment before he said, "We might have a couple in the back corner if yer willin' to look."

Connor mumbled a thank you and began to look around again. Sure enough, in the back corner, there were two brown tarps stuffed behind some potato chip bags. Connor, wisely, did not decide to question it and took the one on the top to the front counter to pay for it.

* * *

It was starting to get dark when he finally arrived.

The cemetery gates were, in a word, grand. There was something vaguely victorian about the way the iron looped and swirled. They were wide open, wide enough for a car to drive up the paved path of the graveyard to the top of the hill. There were a couple of people walking around, looking at the gravestones, the oldest ones towards the entrance and getting newer as they spread out.

Connor paid most of the graves and people no mind; he knew exactly who he was looking for and walked in a brisk walk towards it. Like the whereabouts of the cemetery, Connor knew the grave's exact coordinates. Although this was not a graveyard only for the Kanien'kehá:ka, she had been buried there.

The graveyard was vast and had been in use for a very long time, so it took Connor almost twenty minutes to get to the grave. It was not the newest one there, but the chemicals that had been put in her body had killed the grass in the shape of a rectangle before the gravestone. Connor was careful not to step on the rectangle as he moved before the grave and sat down before it.

 _Kaniehtí:io_

 _"Ziio"_

 _A loving daughter and mother_

 _You will be missed_

 _"What is past is past—it is the present and the future that concern us."_

* * *

Yeah, I know, it's a short chapter. It's really a transitional one. Sorry.

By the way, I want to thank you all for your lovely comments! Seeing those really make me want to write more. :)

The quote on Ziio's grave was from a Onondaga and Kanien'kehá:ka leader in the 1500s named Hiawatha. I think it sums everything up pretty well.


	26. Chapter 26

Haytham found it difficult to concentrate at school on Monday.

Not that he was particularly trying to focus on his work, at all. In fact, he had spent much of the morning making up a meaningless project for his students to do. He had more important things to do than to talk over a bunch of teenagers who weren't going to be listening to him anyways. He needed to wait for the phone call from the police to see if they had found any clues as to where Connor had gone.

None of his students were really focusing on the project. They were all huddled in groups, gossiping about how whomever was seen hanging out with whom or how so-and-so had gone vegan or, of course, Malik and Kadar. Only Altaïr seemed to be silent, but even he was not doing the project. He had his book open to a random page, which he seemed to be staring at without really seeing. Once again, Haytham felt a twinge of regret when he realized that, had Malik been there, he would have been able to keep Altaïr on track.

Still, Haytham did not talk to his students for much of the day and mostly left them to their own devices. Even when it was a few minutes before the end of class and his students began to start putting their things away and head to the door, he did not insist that they wait for the bell to ring like he normally did. Mostly he spent his day alternating between pretending to grade some papers, pretending to read a book, or staring intently at the phone, waiting for it to ring.

At lunch, Haytham waited in his classroom instead of going to the teacher's lounge like he usually did. He tried to convince himself to eat, but the sandwich he had made and the string cheese he had brought tasted ashen in his mouth.

The day seemed to crawl by, with no call from the police OR any social workers. Haytham grew more and more anxious as time went by.

He hated this. He hated feeling so… powerless.

When the bell rang, signalling the end of the day, most of his students from his last period were gone, a couple of stragglers were slowly packing up their things and getting deep into a discussion about… politics, Haytham thought, but he wasn't really listening. Sometimes he would eavesdrop on his students' conversations, but he wasn't really interested at that point in time.

Once the last students were gone, Haytham had half the mind to stay in his classroom for another hour or so, just so that he wouldn't accidentally miss a phone call while he was driving back home.

He didn't want to go back home anyways. He had spent much of Sunday hanging around the house, waiting for the police or Lucy Stillman to call, when he realized how… empty the entire place seemed without Connor there. It was empty in a way that it hadn't been before Haytham had even known about Connor's existence. It just felt completely wrong.

Still, it would have been ridiculous to just sit around his classroom all day. Nevertheless, Haytham made a point of going impossibly slow as he packed up his things, taking several minutes to decide what stack of papers he wanted to "grade" and making sure that the whiteboard was completely clear of any ink or smudges.

Haytham had been sitting at his desk, reorganizing his binder for the third time when someone knocked on the door, causing him to jump. Haytham really was not in the mood to talk to anyone at the moment, especially if it happened to be Charles. However, years as a teacher had honed him to automatically respond, "Come in."

The door pushed open slowly to reveal a timid looking Aveline. She had her hands knotted in the skirt of her long green dress and she was biting her lip. Haytham tried to look more inviting and smiled at her, although he could tell that the smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Hello, Aveline, what can I do for you?" Haytham asked tiredly.

"I wanted to… ask about Connor?" said Aveline hesitantly.

Haytham's smile fades slightly. "What about him?"

"Is he still sick?" Aveline asked. "I didn't see him at school today…"

"Oh…" said Haytham.

He wasn't quite sure what to say. Should he tell her what happened? He probably shouldn't; it would just worry her unnecessarily. Still, she was Connor's friend and she had a right to know what has happened. In fact, Aveline was one of Connor's only friends since he came here, other than Kadar. Besides, maybe she knew something about it; maybe Connor had happened to mention something to her about his plans.

"Did… did you not see the news report?" Haytham asked, his eyes trained on her face.

Aveline's eyes widened in horror. "'News report?'" she repeated dumbly. "No, I don't usually watch the news; much of my freetime is taken up with homework. Did something happen?"

"Connor ran away last night," said Haytham, as gently as he could.

"Oh…" said Aveline, the shock clearly evident all over her face. "Oh…"

"Did he mention anything to you? Anything at all?" Haytham asked, trying not to sound anxious.

"No…" Aveline said, still looking like she was trying to process that information.

"Nothing at all?" said Haytham disappointedly.

"No…" Aveline repeated. She paused for a moment before adding, "Well, maybe there was something…"

"What? What was it?" Haytham demanded eagerly.

"Well… Connor was saying some stuff to… Kadar and I… about how he thought that he was 'bad luck' or something like that and how it would probably be better if he just… left," said Aveline.

"What!?" Haytham growled, standing up abruptly. Aveline flinched back as Haytham went on, "And you didn't think to tell me!?"

"I- I'm sorry," said Aveline defensively, "but I didn't really think that anything could have come from it."

Haytham sighed and ran his hands through his hair as he sat back down. "Don't apologize. I'm sorry for yelling. I'm just… _really_ stressed at the moment, as I am sure that you can imagine."

"I understand," Aveline said, shuffling her feet slightly.

"Did- did he say anything else to you? Before he left?" Haytham asked nervously.

Aveline paused, thinking for a minute. "Well, on Friday he kept saying that he wanted to go home. I thought that he meant that he wanted to… you know, go back to your house, but if he ran away…"

Haytham nodded. He was confident that if the police were going to search anywhere, they were going to look for Connor in his old neighborhood first, but it couldn't hurt to tell them what Aveline said.

"Thank you for telling me that, Aveline," said Haytham. "If you would like, I could give you a call any time there is an update; I already agreed to do so for Malik."

"Oh," said Aveline, looking relieved. "That would be great, thank you."

"You parents' phone numbers are in the school's database, correct?" Haytham said.

"Yes," Aveline replied. "I'm staying with my mother this week so when you want to call, call her, not my father and step-mother."

Haytham took a mental note of that and nodded. "You should probably go; you don't want to miss the bus."

Aveline nodded and said, "Thank you for telling me what happened. I hope they find Connor soon."

As she headed from the classroom, Haytham sighed under his breath, "You and me both."

He waited another couple of minutes before he moved over to the classroom telephone and punched in the phone number that the police had given him. It was Officer Rogers that had answered and Haytham relayed the information that Aveline had given him.

"Thank you, Mr. Kenway, but we are already in the city looking for him," said Rogers. "With all due respect, we know what we're doing and we should find him soon. We've done this before."

"Of course," Haytham said quickly. "I'm sorry for wasting your time."

"I know that you're worried, Mr. Kenway, but please try to be patient."

"I will. Thank you."

* * *

Sorry it's been a little while, but I've been a little busy; doing adult things like going to college orientation and getting a job. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Honestly, I think that if Haytham weren't a part of the Templar Order, and he had actually stayed with Ziio, he would have been a good father to Connor. Or at least, I would like to think that. Who knows, though?

Did anyone catch Blackbeard's cameo in the last chapter?


	27. Chapter 27

Near by Connor's old neighborhood, there was a small community of Native Americans living within the city. His mother told him that that was where she lived before she met his father. The people living there were all from different tribes, including Wolastoqiyik and Pennacook, but there were a few members of the Kanien'kehá:ka tribe, including one of Connor's best friends, Kanen'tó:kon, despite the fact that their tribe was originally near New York.

Due to the proximity between the two neighborhoods, they were part of the same school district. On Monday, Connor began to walk to his old school, hoping to see Kanen'tó:kon. Unfortunately, Connor happened to arrive in the middle of the day, while classes were in session.

It did not look at all like Haytham's school, in Connor's opinion. The walls were brick and each of the school's three levels certainly seemed to have more windows than the other school. There was a basketball court directly next to the building, but it was fenced in. The school was just for middle school students, and did not combine middle and high school, unlike the other school. As such, there was one level for each grade level; the sixth graders were on the first floor, the seventh graders on the second, and eighth graders on the third level.

He stood outside of the main building for a minute or so, shifting his feet as he weighed his options. He could stick around, waiting outside of the school until class was over, but that meant the possibility of a teacher or another adult that worked for the school coming and accusing him of skipping class. Connor also supposed that he could leave and come back, but then there was the possibility that Kanen'tó:kon would get onto the bus and would miss him.

Connor moved around the side of the building. He quickly counted the windows that were not open and had the blinds closed. Connor took a deep breath and began to climb. He felt a twinge of amusement as he scaled the building, remembering when he had climbed to the roof back home while he was playing with Desmond. He remembered Haytham's face when he came home and saw him up there.

 _Home_ , Connor thought with a jolt, the idea making his hand slip on the brick slightly.

He continued to climb, avoiding the windows without curtains or blinds, until he was able to hoist himself onto the rooftop.

Although Kanen'tó:kon's schedule has likely changed since the last time they saw each other (he and Connor had always had many of the same classes before, but now that they went to different schools, he had no idea what classes he was in now), but Connor figured that classes would end at the same time, around three forty-five. Connor would wait until then before coming down to the third floor to join the other eighth graders; there were enough of them there that they were unlikely to notice one more, but few enough at the same time that it shouldn't take him _too_ long to find Kanen'tó:kon. He hoped that none of his old teachers would recognize him.

Connor laid down on the roof, folding his arms behind his head as he looked up at the overcast sky. He briefly wondered if it was going to start raining before his mind was drawn back to Haytham. Connor was sure that he was _frantic_ by now and once again the teenager felt a little bit regretful, but he needed to do this. He couldn't go back, though, not now.

Around noon he dug another can of food out of his bag and began to eat. He was running low on food, Connor noted; he would likely run out soon. He also didn't have very much money either, but Connor tried not to think about what would happen when he ran out of both.

The day stretched on. A little before three forty, Connor opened the door to the roof and climbed into the stairwell. He spotted a couple of seventh graders near the second floor door who were clearly skipping class. Connor didn't acknowledge them, nor did they acknowledge him as he snuck into the third floor.

He peered through the doorway wearily to see if there was anyone near by. There was one teacher walking down the hallway, but he had his back to him. Connor took a deep breath and slipped through the doorway, shutting the door as quietly as he could behind him. He glanced at the teacher's retreating back once more before he began to sneak towards the nearest boy's bathroom.

The bathroom, luckily, was empty. Connor picked a stall at random and went inside, locking the door behind him and putting his feet on the toilet so that if anyone happened to pass by they wouldn't see him. Connor waited there like that until he heard the bell ring and slipped out of the bathroom to find Kanen'tó:kon.

Students spilled out of every classroom, chatting with each other, laughing, texting on their phones, complaining about their classes. The way that the hallway was shaped, it was sort of like an 'O,' with two stairways leading downwards. Connor looped around until he spotted Kanen'tó:kon making his way to the nearest stairwell. He pushed his way through the crowd so that he was within reach of his friend.

Connor put his hand on Kanen'tó:kon's shoulder, who whipped around immediately. His eyes widened in surprise and he gasped, "Ratonhnhaké:ton? What are you doing here?"

Many of the other students around them were glaring at the two boys, bumping into them as they passed by. Connor glanced around at the students near by before turning back towards Kanen'tó:kon. "Can I talk to you?"

Kanen'tó:kon frowned, but nodded. The two of them drifted with the rest of the eighth graders to the stairwell, but instead of going down towards the buses with everyone else, they went up the stairs closer to the roof where it was less crowded.

"I don't understand," said Kanen'tó:kon with a frown. "What are you doing here? I thought that you were living with your dad now."

"I was," Connor admitted.

"But then why are you here?" said Kanen'tó:kon.

"I left," replied Connor.

"Why?" his friend demanded.

"I- I couldn't stay there," Connor said quietly.

Kanen'tó:kon remained silent for a moment or so, studying him. "Was… your dad really that bad?"

"No!" Connor said quickly. "He was fine, really! It's just that…"

"What was wrong, then?"

Connor hesitated. "I don't think that it's good for people to be around me."

Kanen'tó:kon stared at him. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know!" He hesitated and added quietly, "I was just thinking that I am bad luck. Being around me made my friends at my new school get in trouble. One of them died. My babysitter got maimed. And look at my mom, too! It's not a good idea for people to be around me, so I left."

"That's ridiculous!" said Kanen'tó:kon fiercely. "You can't possibly be the cause of all of that!"

"That's what Kadar said, and he's dead now," Connor countered fiercely.

"Look, running away like this is ridiculous," Kanen'tó:kon insisted.

"I thought that it was the best option." Connor scowled.

"Well, you were wrong," said Kanen'tó:kon. "Look, you need to go back. You can't just leave like this."

"It's my life and I can make any decision I want!" Connor hissed.

"You're fourteen! I can't believe you!" Kanen'tó:kon threw his hands into the air.

Connor crossed his arms over his chest. "I _knew_ that I couldn't expect you to understand!"

"Then why did you come?" Kanen'tó:kon said crossly.

"Because I wanted to say goodbye," Connor snapped. "I'm leaving whether you want me to or not!"

"Where are you going to go?" said Kanen'tó:kon, glaring at his friend.

"I don't know," said Connor vaguely, his anger fading only slightly. "Around."

Kanen'tó:kon sighed and thumbed the end of one of his braids. The stairwell was almost empty of students, now, save for them and a couple of stragglers, slowly meandering their way down the stairs to get to the school two boys knew that Kanen'tó:kon would have to leave soon, or risk having to walk home.

"I've got to go," Kanen'tó:kon said, a note of reluctance in his tone. "I still think that what you're doing is a terrible idea, however. You need to go back."

"I am not going to," Connor snarled.

Kanen'tó:kon stared at him for another moment or so before hoisting his backpack on to his shoulders. He turned and headed back down the stairs, leaving Connor on the stairs, alone.

 **Author's Note**

I'm trying to think of what I want to write after this; definately something with Ezio, since it's been ages. I was thinking about writing the story of AC Brotherhood with Ezio as a woman, or something to do with the bleeding effect and "Ezio" interacting with Shaun, Rebecca, and Lucy. Tell me which one you'd be most interested in reading. :)


	28. Chapter 28

**Author's Note**

This is kind of a special chapter. We will be changing points of view more often than usual.

Also there is a little bit of dialogue in French, FYI, and one phrase in Arabic.

* * *

Kanen'tó:kon was fidgeting. He was sitting at the kitchen table at his home, thinking about the obvious; his conversation with Ratonhnké:ton earlier that day.

He had to do something. He couldn't just… _ignore_ what he had learned today. Plus, if Kanen'tó:kon acted quickly… perhaps Ratonhnhaké:ton would still be in the neighborhood.

On the flip side of that coin, Kanen'tó:kon believed him when he said that his father really wasn't that bad, but he couldn't shake the feeling that there had to be something to do his father… right? Kanen'tó:kon didn't quite understand what his friend meant when he spoke of people getting hurt around him (how could anyone be bad luck in the manner of which he had been speaking?) so that meant…

Maybe it would be better if Ratonhnhaké:ton _didn't_ go back quite yet, now that he had the time to think more about it.

Kanen'tó:kon turned these thoughts in his head over and over and over again throughout the remainder of the day. However, this meant he was rather quiet that evening and his family noticed.

His father was the first to broach the subject at dinner. "Did anything interesting happen during class, today?"

Kanen'tó:kon bit his lip, hesitating. "Not… during class, no."

"Then in the morning? Or after?" his mother asked.

Again, he hesitated. Kanen'tó:kon tried to be honest in general; it was times like this where he was rather irritated with himself for wanting to uphold this policy.

Kanen'tó:kon put his fork down and looked up at his parents. Their eyes were fixed on his as he said wearily, "I've… got something I need to tell you."

* * *

"And you be good for your _maman_ , Aveline," said her father in his thick, French accent.

Aveline nodded vaguely and did not respond as she stared out the window.

"Aveline," said her _belle-mère_ , Madeleine de L'Isle, from the passenger seat of the car in front of her, twisting around to peer at her. "Answer _ton père, s'il vous plaît_."

" _Oui_ , _belle-mère_ ," Aveline said. "I always am good for _maman_ , _papa,_ you know that."

"I know," her father laughed warmly.

Ever since Aveline's parents divorced five years prior, owing to the fact that her father had met Madeleine, they traded their daughter off every other week. They lived relatively near each other to accomplish this, but far enough away so that they wouldn't have to see each other unless it was a holiday. Aveline had a room set up in each house so that she only needed to bring with her the bare necessities, such as her toothbrush and her school things.

After school on Monday, and Aveline's discussion with Mr. Kenway about Connor, her father and stepmother picked her up. They stopped by at their home briefly so that Aveline could grab the things that she needed (and had neglected to pick up before she had left for school that morning).

" _Mon chéri_ , is there anything that's a matter?" said her father.

" _Peut-être_ ," Aveline said vaguely.

"Answer your father when he asks you a question, Aveline," her stepmother said waspishly.

"Now, now, Madeleine," he said warmly. "She doesn't have to talk about it if she doesn't want to."

Madeleine glanced at Aveline, her face perfectly blank, but did not respond.

The three of them pulled up in front of her mother's much smaller house. Her father parked the car before he and Aveline got out. He looked at Madeleine expectantly, but she shook her head, saying, "I'd rather wait here."

"Whatever you say, _mon amour_ ," said her father, putting one hand on Aveline's shoulder. He steered her towards the front door of the house and knocked loudly three times.

The door opened almost immediately. "Aveline!" her mother cried, immediately embracing her daughter.

" _Bonjour, maman,_ " said Aveline warmly.

" _Bonjour_ , Jeanne," her father said.

"Hello Philippe," replied her mother, breaking apart with Aveline. " _Comment allez-tu?_ "

" _Je vais bien_ ," he said, before turning towards his daughter. He kissed her on the forehead, whispered a quick, "See you next week," before heading back to the car with Madeleine and driving off.

"So," said her mother, her eyes searching Aveline's face. "What's wrong?"

"What?" Aveline said defensively.

Her mother gave her a small, weak smile before stepping aside and allowing Aveline to cross the threshold.

"I will make popcorn," she called, moving over into the kitchen and beginning to bustle around in the cupboards. "Why don't you put your things upstairs in your bedroom? We can have a chat."

"Did I do something wrong?" Aveline asked nervously.

Her mother laughed. "Of course not. I can just tell that something's wrong and I thought that you might want to talk about it.

"Why?" she added, poking her head into the hallway and grinning at her daughter, the sound of popping popcorn emanating from behind her. "You didn't do anything wrong, did you?"

" _Bien sûr que non_ ," said Aveline quickly.

She ran upstairs and deposited her things in her bedroom before returning and sitting down at the table across from her mother, a bowl of popcorn between them.

"So," her mother said. "What's on your mind?"

"Well…" Aveline paused, hesitating. "You already know about Kadar…"

"I do," she said solemnly. "Of course that's what you're upset about. I shouldn't have had to ask."

"It's not just that, though," said Aveline. "There's something else. Do you remember how I mentioned that there was that new boy? At school?"

" _Bien sûr._ What did you say his name was? Connor?"

"Yes," she said heavily. "I just found out that he ran away."

Before she could stop herself, the entire story came spilling out. About Connor's mother, about the car crash, about Malik, and about Connor running away. Aveline's mother listened diligently, and by the end of the story, her daughter was in tears.

"They will find him, Aveline," she said solemnly.

"How do you know?" she replied miserably.

"They will," she said again. "Don't you worry."

"How can I not?"

"Let me give you some advice," said Aveline's mother, reaching out across the table past the popcorn bowl to hold her daughter's hand. "It is impossible to not worry about your friends in such a way, especially when they make poor decisions like this. However, when he gets back and you see him again, why don't you tell him what you're feeling." She paused and grinned. "That you think he's selfish and tell him not to do something this stupid again."

* * *

Needless to say, Malik's life was far from perfect. He spent his days meeting with various therapists and being confined to his hospital bed, the hours every now and then punctuated every now and then with random (and most of the time unannounced) visits from Altaïr. He tried to read or do his homework to help alleviate the boredom he experienced between visits; really, anything he could do to distract himself from the phantom pains in his left arm.

He was glad that Mr. Kenway had come to talk to him that once, giving him the opportunity to mend his friendship with Altaïr. Yes, he had known the entire time deep down that it wasn't entirely the other boy's fault, but he needed someone to blame who was still alive (that is, not the drunk driver). It also meant that someone would be able to visit Malik other than his teachers (talking to teachers outside of school was always strange) or his parents (because Kadar's absence was always horribly obvious when they were around).

The last couple of days, Malik's physical therapist had been insisting that he spend an hour attempting to walk, and that Tuesday was no exception. Yes, it was his arm that had been injured and not his legs, but the amputation had thrown off his center of balance in a way that Malik's mind was still dealing with, and he hated himself for it. Each time that he stumbled or tripped was a failure and every time he had to brace himself against the wall was yet another loss.

"You're getting better," said his physical therapist encouragingly as the world lurched around him uncomfortably and he had to lean against the wall to avoid dropping to the floor.

Malik scowled. " _I'm not, though; this is just as bad as when we first started_ ," he thought pessimistically.

"You've made great progress," said the therapist, as if he knew the direction of Malik's thoughts. "If you just-"

"I don't want to hear it from _you_ ," Malik hissed.

The therapist crossed his arms over his chest and, wisely, said nothing. Malik pushed the wall away and swayed for a moment or so before he managed to take two steps, still wobbling dangerously.

The door to the hospital room burst open and Malik tripped in surprise, landing hard on his right palm and then falling over onto his left shoulder and chin. He swore like a sailor, partially from the pain and partially from the embarrassment as the therapist rushed over to try to help him up. Altaïr, from within the doorway, stared at the scene in horror.

"I don't want your help," Malik snapped at the therapist, who ignored him and helped him back to his hospital bed.

"I- I can come back later," spluttered Altaïr nervously, wringing his hands.

"No," said Malik, rubbing his left shoulder with a scowl.

"You may stay, if you like," the therapist said. "We were just about done anyways."

" _Alhamdulillah_ ," Malik muttered in relief, still scowling.

Altaïr and Malik watched the therapist scribble a few notes down on his clipboard, pack his things up, and left the room. The former moved over to the chair that he usually occupied next to Malik's bed and flopped down in it, looking at Malik curiously.

"What was that all about?" Altaïr asked, his eyebrows raised.

"I'd rather not talk about it," said Malik curtly.

The two talked about nothing for around twenty minutes, both of them careful not to mention Kadar, Malik's arm, or any of his therapy sessions. Malik complained about how bored he was. Altaïr complained about school and insisted that his friend was lucky not to be there. Malik countered that even sitting in class is more exciting than sitting in the hospital.

Their meeting was cut short, however, when Malik's parents entered the room and moved over to their son's bed, looking pointedly at Altaïr, who glanced at his friend and muttered, "See you later," before he wandered from the room.

Malik looked up at his parents, not bothering to keep the annoyance from his face. "What."

"We've been trying to do some planning," said his mother feebly.

"For?" Malik asked irritably.

"For… the funeral," said his father regretfully.

Malik's heart sank. He couldn't pretend that he didn't know that this was coming. Of course they had to have Kadar's funeral at some point, but Malik didn't want to think about it. In fact, he tried to avoid thinking about Kadar as much as possible, which was why he dreaded the daily visits from his parents; he didn't want the reminder. If he could avoid thinking about Kadar or the reason why he was in the hospital in the first place, he could almost, _almost_ pretend that everything was going to be okay… for a short time, at least.

"What about it?" said Malik wearily.

"Don't worry about it," his mother said.

"Then why did you bring it up?" Malik growled.

"Well, we… we wanted to… we're trying…" said his mother before bursting into tears. Malik resisted the urge to get angry with her; they could barely have a conversation with her any more without her beginning to cry and it made Malik feel upset.

"We're trying to put together an invite list," his father said gravely. "We thought that you might want to contribute a few names."

Malik hesitated before he nodded. His father fumbled with his pocket zipper for a moment before handing him a folded up piece of paper and a pen. Malik set the two down on the tray, which he pulled closer towards him.

"We shall return shortly," said his father, putting his arm around his wife's shoulder and heading from the room.

Malik silently scanned the list of names they had already written down twice. He took a deep breath, tried to smooth the paper out as much as he could, and began to write.

* * *

It was Tuesday night when Haytham got the call. He had been at home, of course, finding it difficult to focus on anything, when the phone ringing had interrupted the deafening silence. Haytham jumped to his feet and sprinted to the phone, scrambling to pick up the receiver when he recognized the phone number.

"Hello?" he gasped. "Did you find him?"

As a matter of fact, they had not. They were only calling him to alert him to the fact that Connor had stopped somewhere to talk to one of his friends from before his mom died. The friend had reported it to his parents, and thus they knew his general area.

"Please try to stay calm, Mr. Kenway," said the police officer. "And please; I implore you not to do anything ridiculous. We can handle things; don't you worry."

Haytham stood alone in the kitchen, clutching the phone long after the call disconnected. They knew where he was. He was okay. Haytham couldn't quite believe it, even as he dialed the numbers of the people who had requested that he keep them in the loop of what was happening with Connor's situation.

* * *

Oh, and as a little side note about Malik's section, I read an article one time about people who have had either of their arms amputated and how they had trouble with balance afterwards. I hope that clarifies what was going on.


	29. Chapter 29

Hey, so I wasn't doing anything today, so I figured, "Why not write and publish that chapter of the Assassin's Creed fanfic that I totally haven't abandoned that I meant to have up MONTHS ago."

Thank you for being so patient with me. I am so sorry that it took this long! I also want to thank everyone that's been taking the time to comment on my work. It really makes me happy to see that people are interested in reading the crap that I write.

I also apologize in advance for the fight scene. I'm terrible at them.

* * *

Connor was planning to leave the city. He knew very well that that was where people were most likely to look for him.

Still, he could not be expected to escape the city immediately, right? It was late and after waiting around all day to talk to Kanen'tó:kon… well, the sun was going down fast.

Connor headed back closer towards his old apartment. He didn't know where he could sleep, as he couldn't sleep inside anywhere without raising suspicion about his situation and he couldn't go back to the park (everything he had seen in spy movies over the course of his life had taught him that it was not a good idea to stay in the same place more than once when you're on the run from something).

He managed to find an alleyway that was vacant of homeless people. Connor sat down next to one of the dumpsters so that he would not be visible from the alley entrance, trying to ignore the smell and the way that flies were buzzing in the air around him. He sighed, looking gloomily around at the graffiti on the brick walls.

"This is it," he muttered to himself. "This is how I'm going to be living the rest of my life. I had better get used to it."

Connor's eyes rested on some used hypodermic needles underneath the dumpster and he cringed away from them in disgust.

" _You could go back_ ," a small voice in the back of his mind suggested timidly.

He scowled. Another part of him argued that Haytham would undoubtedly be furious with him at that point and Connor wasn't sure that he wanted to deal with being yelled at by him again, like when he climbed on the roof.

Connor figured that he could go to Aveline's place, but she was likely to tell people that he was there. The only reason why he felt comfortable finding Kanen'tó:kon and talking to him was because he probably wouldn't tell people that he was there. Would he? He did seem pretty angry when Connor showed up out of the blue and told him that he had run away.

He shook his head out of his thoughts and began to dig around in his backpack for dinner, to find that he only had one bag of beef jerky left. Connor stared at it apprehensively, wondering if he should save it for later, when his stomach growled traitorously.

Connor sighed and tore the top off, helping himself to his last bit of food. He tried to chew slowly, savoring the taste and the rest of his food. All too soon, however, the bag ran out. He tossed it into the dumpster next to him and ran his hands through his hair.

Why did he run away? It's ridiculous. Kanen'tó:kon was right; Connor's fourteen. What on earth was he thinking?

Still, Connor stubbornly did not want to admit defeat. He would not go back.

He withdrew the tarp he had bought earlier from his backpack, following the dark haired homeless man's advice. If the clouds ahead were any indication, it was definitely going to start to drizzle sooner or later. Connor wrapped the tarp around his shoulders, shooting one last glance at the needles under the dumpster, before curling up on the ground. He closed his eyes, trying not to think about what tomorrow might bring…

Connor awoke abruptly to someone shouting. He leaped to his feet, the tarp dropping to the ground, as he blinked rapidly and tried to figure out where he was.

It was still dark out, and a light dusting of rain was sprinkling down from the sky. He was still in the alleyway, but he was not alone. There was a man a few feet away from Connor who looked completely disheveled and half insane. His eyes were wide as he stared at the fourteen year old boy.

The man had blond hair and blue eyes, but there was a vacantness to them that made Connor feel anxious. He was wearing a dirty, dark gray sweatshirt with one of the sleeves rolled up so that Connor could see several puncture marks and bruises. He was unhealthily skinny. The junkie shouted at Connor in an unintelligible mix of English and Russian.

"Why are you here?" was the first comprehensible thing that the man said.

"I'm sorry!" Connor gasped. "I- I'll just-"

The fourteen year old moved to pick up his tarp and backpack so that he could get the _hell_ out of there as fast as possible. The junkie, however, moved over to Connor faster than someone of his poor health should have been able to move.

The first punch glanced past Connor's cheek. He noticed too late that it was a feint, though, and the second punch doubled him over and made him gasp for air. The man continued to shout incomprehensibly in the half-Russian half-English word salad and tried to punch Connor in the nose. The fourteen year old barely avoided having his nose broken, dodging to the side, but at the cost of being punched in the eye.

Connor threw his arms over his face, his left eye stinging. He tried to stay standing tall, blocking and dodging the junkie's flying fists as much as he could, but he was unable to ignore how his knees were shaking. The man was a lot bigger than he was, Connor had never been in a real fist fight before, and despite the junkie's weakened appearance, he was proving to be a formidable opponent. At least, of course, when he was fighting a fourteen year old.

One of the blows was sloppy. Both Connor and the junkie realized it. The fourteen year old ducked underneath his arm, diving past him, and the junkie almost fell over. Almost.

 _There_. The way was clear to the entrance of the alley; Connor could have run. He could have escaped. He was prevented, however, by the thought of leaving his backpack and tarp behind. If he did that, he would have nothing.

Connor analyzed the situation, the junkie whipping around to punch him again. Somehow, he managed to grab the man's arm and prevent him from punching him and tried to run back towards his things. The junkie swore, and grabbed Connor by the hood before throwing him deeper into the alley.

The fourteen year old tried to get his bearings, winded, as the junkie pulled a knife from a strap next to his ankle.

" _Time's up_ ," Connor thought anxiously, his eyes bouncing around the alley for something to help him and landing on the tarp.

Connor lunged for it, yanking it from the ground, while the man sprang at him, wielding the knife wildly. It was clear that he did not have very much practice using it. The fourteen year old threw the tarp at the junkie's head, snatching his backpack from next to the dumpster. The tarp covered the man, disorienting him and blocking his would-be victim from view.

He sprinted away from the alley as fast as he could, his eye, his abdomen, and his forearms stinging horribly, the latter two being the places where Connor had received the most hits. He ran and he ran and he ran until he was entirely out of breath and he had no idea where he was. Whatever part of the city he was in was completely unfamiliar.

Connor slowed to a halt and gasped for breath, wrapping his arms around his torso and doubling over, chest heaving.

"I can't do this," he whispered to himself. "I can't do this."

Connor hobbled over to the nearest bench and collapsed there. He hung his head back so that he was looking at the sky and tried to recuperate and gather his thoughts.

He couldn't do it. He couldn't be on his own like that. He was out of food, almost out of money, and Connor knew that it was sheer dumb luck that had gotten him out of that encounter with the drug addict rather than skill; as such, if he had another encounter like that one, there was no way that he would be able to get out of there… at least without his own form of combat training.

Without really knowing why he felt that way, Connor was ashamed of himself. Questions bubbled in his mind, accusing him of things that he did not want to think about. Why didn't he just stay with Haytham? Why did he think it was a good idea to just leave like that? Why didn't he tell him that he wanted to visit his mother's grave? Connor cursed his own stupidity and selfishness; he was confident that if he had told Haytham that he wanted to go to the cemetery to visit his mom he would have happily agreed.

And all of that stuff about being bad luck? Connor was upset about Kadar's death. It was the worst possible time to make a rash decision like running away. He slumped forward and ran his hands through his hair. What on _earth_ was he thinking?

"Young man," a voice said.

Connor looked up to see a soft-faced young man with glasses, fancy clothes, and a buckle on his briefcase that read "Ned Wynert." The man peered at the fourteen year old, unamused, with his eyebrows raised.

"Are you alright?" Mr. Wynert asked brusquely. His eyes moved about Connor's face, returning to the black eye several times.

"Do you know the way to the bus station?" asked Connor, ignoring the business man's question.

Mr. Wynert looked surprised. "Yes…?"

"Can you give me directions?" the fourteen year old said. "I'm lost and I need to get back home."

The business man peered at Connor skeptically but did as he was asked. He thanked Mr. Wynert and tried not to run down the streets that he had told him about. It was still very early in the morning, and as such there were not to many people about, so he did not have to worry about bumping into people.

Connor, upon having arrived at the bus station, briefly thought about calling Haytham from one of the many pay phones available to let him know that he was on his way back before dismissing the thought. Haytham was undoubtedly, after all, going to yell at him and Connor wanted to delay that interaction for as long as possible. Besides, he needed that money for the bus and would prefer not to waste his money on calling someone he was going to see soon anyways.

He remembered what the number of the bus was that he had ridden before. Connor only had to wait at the station little while before one pulled up, the people that had been on the inside pouring out onto the platform.

The driver was a different one from before. He looked at Connor with disinterest as the fourteen year old dropped his coins into the machine and the ticket spat out, before wandering off towards the back of the bus to pick out a seat.

"It's going to be a fifteen minute wait," the driver called out.

He held his backpack in his lap and looked out of the window, waving noncommittally at the driver to acknowledge that he heard him but did not mind waiting a little bit longer. The driver grunted and shambled off of the bus to go take his break.

Connor, if he were honest with himself, would admit that he was happy to be going home.

* * *

Daniel Cross (whom you might have figured out that the junkie was) is one of the reasons that I can't forgive the Templars. Putting a nine year old in the Animus for so long he forgets his own name and then ditching him out in the countryside? That is NOT okay.


	30. Chapter 30

It was clear to anyone who looked at Haytham that he was stressed. On Tuesday he tried to go back to what he originally had scheduled for his classes, but even _he_ seemed to be barely paying attention to what he was saying. He was also more likely to snap at his students when they were not listening or they were on their phones. In fact, the school was buzzing much of Tuesday with how Mr. Kenway had yelled at Ezio Auditore for who knows what (everyone had a different theory as to what he did to invoke the English teacher's wrath. Ezio, meanwhile, seemed to be enjoying the attention).

The only student present that Haytham really seemed to have patience for was Altaïr, but in truth most of the teachers seemed to have more patience for him since the accident, despite the grumblings from many of the other students (namely Abbas Sofian). Nevertheless, any alleged tolerance that Haytham may or may not have had for one, singular student, that did not seem to prevent him from angrily giving the entire class extra homework.

On Monday he had put off any detentions he would have originally had that day because of the fact that Haytham wanted to get back home as soon as possible, in case that anyone called with information about where Connor was. However, Haytham sternly reminded himself that he has responsibilities other than to his runaway son, and informed the students that detention would continue as scheduled that day.

Still, though, an hour after classes had ended for the day, Haytham found himself in an even worse mood facing Ezio and a select five others in the silent classroom. He couldn't _wait_ for detention to be over so that he could get home and wait for someone to call, telling him that they found Connor, and that he was _safe_ …

The hour dragged on and on. Haytham set about preparing for class on Wednesday, pausing every now and then to scowl or sternly watch the students to make sure that they were actually studying. He was so eager to be rid of the students that he released them five minutes early.

None of the students were grateful, of course.

Haytham moodily packed away his things and brushed out to his car as quickly as possible. He drove home briskly, while maintaining the speed limit, of course. As soon as he headed inside, he checked to see if there were any messages left on his phone. Of course, there were none.

He sat on the couch and tried to read a book, though Haytham just ended up reading the same sentence over and over and over again until the phone rang, interrupting the deafening silence. Haytham jumped to his feet and sprinted to the phone, scrambling to pick up the receiver when he recognized the phone number.

"Hello?" he gasped. "Did you find him?"

"No," said a police officer. "However, Mr. Kenway, we would like to inform you that he has been spotted."

"Where? By whom?"

"Your son has stopped to speak to one of his friends from his previous home and school," the police officer said. "The child in question reported it to his parents, so we know his general area. We have already reported this information to his social worker."

The police officer paused, allowing Haytham to absorb his words.

"Please try to stay calm, Mr. Kenway," said the police officer. "And please; I implore you not to do anything ridiculous. We can handle things; don't you worry."

Haytham stood alone in the kitchen, clutching the phone long after the call disconnected. They knew where he was. He was okay. Haytham couldn't quite believe it, even as he dialed the numbers of the people who had requested that he keep them in the loop of what was happening with Connor's situation.

He ran through the list silently in his head; Bill Miles, Malik Al-Sayf and his parents, Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, Oiá:ner Horn, Aveline and the rest of the Grandpré family, a couple of Connor's other teachers…

Even after he had called everyone he could think of to call, Haytham stayed in the kitchen. He sat down with a huff at the table, staring blankly at the stacks of papers he had yet to grade or return to the students that wrote them. He decided that he would try to stay up as late as possible, so that if they managed to find Connor and called again, he would be right there and able to answer.

Throughout college and his teaching career, Haytham has had ample opportunity to pull all-nighters, whether because he needed to grade papers or study for something himself. Thus, he had no problem staying awake well past midnight, awaiting a call that he knew logically would probably not come, despite the tiredness creeping into his eyes.

It was around one in the morning that Haytham was about ready to go upstairs and go to bed. It was silly, after all, to expect them to call with Connor's whereabouts twice in one night.

"Foolish," Haytham muttered aloud, pushing the chair away from the table with a scrape and getting to his feet.

He made his way down the hall and halfway up the stairs when he heard someone try to turn the knob on the front door. Haytham froze, turning slowly to stare at the door. There was a pause outside and Haytham heard a muffled sigh. He scrambled to the door, throwing it open, and bathing Connor in light.

The fourteen year old jumped up to his feet from where he had been sitting on the front porch, looking alarmed, like he had been caught doing something that he wasn't supposed to be doing. Haytham wasted no time pulling the boy into a crushing hug, ignoring the way that Connor's posture stiffened uncomfortably in his embrace.

Haytham released Connor and eyed him critically, the latter still looking nervous, while the former took in the scrapes and bruises. Haytham put his hands on his hips.

"What the bloody hell did you think you were doing!? I was going mad with worry, not to mention everyone else! Bill, Malik, your grandmother, Aveline, to name a few! And what happened to your face! It's covered in injuries!"

Connor took a deep breath and seemed to gather his wits about himself. "I… don't really want to talk about it right now."

Haytham sighed and ran one of his hands through his hair. He _really_ wanted to be angry. He wanted to insist that the fourteen year old talk about why he had just taken off like that and how someone had clearly tried to beat him up. The emotion Haytham felt over all, though, was relief. Connor was okay. He was safe. He was home.

"Come on, Connor," Haytham said briskly. "Let's get you inside, then."

Haytham pushed the door open wider to allow Connor to go inside. The fourteen year old slouched past his father, who ushered him into the kitchen. Haytham retrieved an ice pack from the fridge, handed it to Connor, and instructed him to put it over his bruises. Connor placed it over his black eye.

Haytham bustled around the kitchen, making Connor something to eat, all thoughts of sleep banished from his mind. He had hoped that the fourteen year old would open up to him and tell him exactly what happened, but he just remained silent, one hand holding the ice pack to his face and the other putting meager bites of food into his mouth, his gaze downwards.

He watched Connor for another moment more before he called everyone on his list for the second time that night. Most people did not answer, of course, save for a very tired (and somewhat grouchy) Bill Miles, given the late hour, but Haytham left them messages; he had promised to keep them updated on the situation. He also called the police department, a representative stating that they would call off the search. Connor watched him silently from the table.

The last call he made was to Lucy. Haytham did not know if it was lucky that she answered or unlucky.

"Mr. Kenway?" she asked in surprise. "To what do I owe this very early pleasure?"

"Connor made it home," he announced.

Lucy paused. "You- you found him?"

"Well, he found me," said Haytham proudly. "He came home."

"Is he okay?" asked Lucy.

"He's pretty tired and looks like he got into a fight of some sort, but he's safe now," he said.

"A fight," Lucy repeated dubiously.

Haytham's smile faded slightly as he remembered what she had said before about runaways and abuse. "Er… yes."

"Well, I'm afraid that I'm still going to have to take him out of your home so that I can reevaluate the situation," said Lucy.

For several heartbeats, Haytham fell silent. He could still feel Connor's eyes on his back from where he was sitting at the table. "I…" he started, trying to find the words.

"I can come for him in a couple of hours," Lucy went on.

"But… Can't you… wait?" Haytham asked, throwing a glance back at Connor, who was watching him curiously. "He's tired and he has had a rough couple of days. He needs to rest."

"You're a teacher, Mr. Kenway, so tell me; if you suspected that a child was being hurt by his or her parent or guardian, would you want to leave them in that household for any longer than necessary?" Lucy asked in her sickeningly cheerful voice.

"No, I wouldn't," said Haytham. "But I'm not-"

"In that case you understand what I'm trying to do here," said Lucy. "I told you about runaways and abuse, and both you and Connor said when I checked in with you both before that you had gotten into a couple of arguments. Now you're telling me that, upon his return, he has apparently 'got into a fight of some sort?'"

She pauses and Haytham can hear her take a deep breath from on the phone. "Mr. Kenway, you seem like an intelligent man, so you _must_ know that it's better to be safe than sorry."

"I know," said Haytham quietly.

"Besides, if you haven't actually been hurting Connor in any way you have nothing to worry about," Lucy went on, "and we can have him back to you in a day or so."

"... I see," Haytham said.

"I will be there in a couple of hours," she repeated. "Have Connor ready to go."

"I will."

There was a click on the other end of the line. Haytham stood there for another minute or so, facing the wall, trying to calm the fury that was roaring in his mind. He turned back towards Connor, who was watching him tiredly but curiously. Haytham flopped down in the chair across from him, taking a deep breath, and letting his head drop to the back of the chair for a moment or so.

"Connor," said Haytham, sitting up straight and looking at the fourteen year old seriously. "Lucy Stillman is going to come for you in a couple of hours."

Whatever Connor had been expecting Haytham to say, that was clearly not it. He looked at Haytham in surprise and nearly dropped the ice pack, dismay slowly growing on his face. "What?"

"She's coming to pick you up," Haytham said.

"Why?" Connor demanded.

"You ran away," he said seriously.

"But I came back!"

"I know you did, but because you left they have to 'reevaluate the situation,'" Haytham said, running his hands through his hair again. "Make sure that my home and I are still safe for you."

Connor fell silent, frowning down at his empty plate. "I don't understand. Why…?"

Haytham leaned forward onto the table and fixed him with a stare. "They think I've been abusive towards you," he said heavily.

"But…"

"I know," said Haytham. "But still, they just want you to be safe. They have your best interests in mind." _Even if that means taking you away from your home early in the morning and not letting you rest or recuperate from whatever you did while you were gone_ , he added silently.

Connor fell silent once more. Haytham could practically see the gears turning in his head as he absorbed this information, a deep frown on the fourteen year old's face. "I don't want to go," he whispered.

"I know." Haytham sighed and got to his feet. "Look, why don't you head upstairs and get some rest? You might be able to sleep a little bit before Lucy comes to get you."

He looked like he wanted to protest, but eventually nodded. Connor plucked his plate from the table and placed it in the sink. He headed upstairs, and Haytham heard the door shut behind him before the teacher started to pace back and forth across the kitchen floor, deep in thought. He considered calling everyone again, but decided that he had probably bothered everyone enough for one night and figured that he would tell people tomorrow.

In all too short a time, Lucy Stillman knocked on the door. The sun would be rising fairly soon. Haytham had not slept at all the previous night and was tempted to call in sick to work, trying to find a substitute, but he would have to deal with that later.

Lucy looked nearly as tired as he felt, but when she spoke it was with her usually cheerful voice. Haytham wondered how she did it. "Where is he?" she asked.

"He's asleep, upstairs," Haytham said, harsher than he had intended.

"Alright. I have the car waiting outside," said Lucy, starting to make her way up the stairs.

"Try not to disturb him as much as possible," Haytham replied, his arms folded over his chest.

Lucy nodded and continued her ascent. Haytham, however, stood rooted to the spot as she opened Connor's bedroom door and drifted inside. A moment or so later, Lucy and a half-awake Connor walked down the hallway, neither of them acknowledging Haytham as they passed by. Only when they walked through the doorway (or stumbled, in the case of Connor, as he seemed to be too tired to properly put one foot in front of the other) did Haytham finally move. He stood in the entrance of his home, observing Lucy as she helped Connor into the back of the car. She, herself, got into the driver's seat and pulled the car away from the curb, leaving Haytham behind.

* * *

Woo! Chapter 30! Thanks for all the support you guys! :)


	31. Chapter 31

Connor was barely conscious when Lucy lead him to where her car was waiting outside. His eyes were bleary and he was vaguely aware of the social worker holding his backpack and Haytham hovering silently nearby. Connor did not even look at him, primarily because he was barely awake. Tiredness was still clinging to his eyes and was clearly evident in his every movement.

It was only when Lucy started the car did it even occur to Connor to try to speak to Haytham to… Say goodbye? Apologize for trying to run away? He didn't know what.

He looked out of the car window to see that Haytham was standing in the doorway. Connor opened his mouth to ask Lucy to stop driving so that he could speak to him before they left, but it was too late. They pulled away from the curb before he could even get the words out. Connor pressed his forehead against the window, watching as the house with Haytham inside got further and further away.

"I'm sorry for coming to get you so early," Lucy said from the front seat. "It's a bit early for me, myself," she added jokingly, with a slight yawn.

Connor glared at her from the rearview mirror and said nothing. He thought snidely, " _If it's too early for the both of us, you shouldn't have come_."

"Do you want to listen to music?" Lucy suggested.

He craned his head, looking behind him, but he could no longer see Haytham's house in the distance.

"Or I suppose you're tired," continued Lucy. "You can sleep, if you want to."

"Well, I was sleeping before you barged into my bedroom," Connor snapped, the words escaping his mouth before he was able to stop them.

Lucy sighed. "I didn't 'barge in' anywhere, Connor, as you very well know."

He rolled his eyes and leaned against the window again.

"I'm not going to discuss this with you tonight when we're both exhausted and you just… got back from wherever you ran off to…" Lucy hesitated for a moment. "We'll discuss everything in the morning. I don't know how much Haytham Kenway talked to you about how the circumstances have changed…"

Connor remembered what Haytham had said before he send him off to bed. "Things haven't changed, though."

"I wouldn't expect you to completely understand," sighed Lucy again.

"I'm fourteen. I'm not a child anymore."

Lucy didn't say anything, but Connor could see the sardonic smile on her face. He scowled at her, though the social worker could not see his expression from the front seat, of course. He figured that she must have heard hundreds of people just like him say the exact same thing to her, working how she did. Connor had to admit, though, that he did sound kind of cliché.

"It's my life," said Connor, his voice soft.

"I know," Lucy said, "but everything… all of this… is to help you. To protect you."

"I disagree," he replied pointedly.

"I wouldn't expect you to understand," she repeated. "I know your opinion differs from my own, but I've been doing this for a long time and I know a dangerous situation when I see one. I had to intervene; it's my job."

Connor shook his head in disgust and fell silent. He crossed his arms over his chest and refused to speak another word. Maybe he _was_ being childish, but he thought that he had the right. If Lucy was going to treat him like a child and completely ignore what he wanted to do with his life, he was going to behave like a child right back.

"I'm going to take you back from my home," said Lucy. "It's too late for you to go elsewhere at the moment, but I will be able to find you a place to stay soon."

Connor scowled at the back of her head in the front seat and said nothing.

"We can talk more about this in the morning," she said firmly. "Why don't you try to get some sleep?"

Lucy did not speak to him much after that as she made her way back to wherever it was that she lived. Connor did not sleep, though, out of a combination of spite and stubbornness. He also refused point blank to speak to her as well.

It took a couple of hours until they arrived at her house. It turns out that she lived on one of those lots that used to be woodsey and nice before land developers seized it and crammed too many identical houses onto it with very little breathing room between the buildings. Honestly, in Connor's opinion, it was amazing that she could even tell which house was her's.

"Home sweet home," said Lucy in the same cheerful voice she had used when she dropped him off at Haytham's house for the first time as she pulled into the driveway.

Connor rolled his eyes and hoisted his backpack onto his shoulders. Lucy parked the car and slipped out. He did the same and gave her a dark scowl, which the social worker promptly ignored. She lead the way into the house, still smiling at him, and showed him to one of the multitude of empty bedrooms as she explained that she often has to retrieve children from abusive households in the middle of the night and have them stay with her.

"Sleep in as long as you need," she said. "I don't have to be in the office until noon. How long do you think you'll need to get ready?"

He said nothing and gripped the straps of his backpack tightly as he stood in the middle of the room.

"Well, I'll wake you up around eleven, then; that will give you time to get ready," said Lucy. "Good night, Connor."

She shut the door behind her. Connor sighed and flopped backwards onto the bed, staring up at the foreign white ceiling in misery.

* * *

 **Author's Note**

Yeah, the chapter's really short, I know. Sorry.

I'm trying to decide if I want to skip Haytham for the next chapter and just continue on with Connor, because I really don't know what I want him to do. Talk to Shay, maybe? I don't know what I'd have him say, though…

Also I may or may not have started to write a story about a female Altaïr. Oops. Sorry, Ezio. ;) Odds are it won't be published, since it's kind of cliché (the whole "dressing up as a man to get by" trope) but you never know. Although, if I'm honest with myself, it will probably be abandoned by the end of April.


	32. Chapter 32

**Author's Note**

Okay, show of hands; who hates me?

I'm so, SO sorry this took me so long to write, but to be honest, my depression has gotten REALLY bad lately, not to mention that I've had a serious case of writer's block. I know vaguely where I want this story to go, but I don't know the details. It wasn't until today that I even figured out who I wanted to get custody of Connor while this whole investigation is going on (and even that may change; I'm open to suggestions).

Anyways, once again, I am so very sorry. I really meant to have this up MONTHS ago, at the very least before school let out for the summer. I've been beating myself up over it… In the meantime, though, thank you all so much for your patience.

In the future of this fic, though, I can see maybe a couple more chapters, plus an epilogue.

* * *

Haytham did not get drunk.

Yes, he would have a drink every now and then (there was nothing wrong with having a nice glass of red wine when he was settling down for the evening), but Haytham had only been drunk two times in his life and enjoyed clarity of mind to much to actually enjoy the feeling.

The first time he had been drunk was when he was sixteen. Back home in England, when someone is sixteen or seventeen, they can have alcohol as long as there is an adult to buy it for them. His father had taken him out to celebrate his birthday and the two of them had gotten shitfaced; while Haytham's father started to try to lead most of the bar in song (a few people, Haytham recalled, had actually joined in), the most that Haytham remembered was the burning embarrassment, the horrible headache, and the uncomfortable churning in his stomach.

The second time Haytham had gotten drunk was when he found out that his mother had died. He was in college and was doing a study abroad trip with a few other students around Europe when he found out. Jenny had to call him while he was in Italy because his father was too much of a mess to call himself. Haytham had gone to a random bar and drank until he fell asleep with his face against the counter, which was how a couple of other students found him.

There were other reasons why he didn't get drunk, other than losing the clarity of mind. One of them was the fact that he was a teacher; his job did not just stop when he wasn't at the school any more. He had to provide a good example, twenty four-seven. What if he got drunk and one of his students happened to see him? No, it simply was just not a good idea.

His number one reason, though, was his father. Edward Kenway was not afraid to get so drunk that he didn't remember what happened to him in the last few hours. Every now and then it would be up to his children to pick him up from somewhere, whether it be a bar or a holding cell for the evening. Growing up with that as an example did not exactly endear Haytham to the substance.

The incident recently with Malik, Kadar, Altaïr, and Robert de Sable was just the icing on the cake.

Still, that did not stop Haytham from finding himself at the Morrigan two days after Lucy Stillman took Connor away.

The first day was almost bearable; if he just threw himself into his work and didn't allow himself to think about the events of the previous evening, it was fine.

But then Haytham automatically started to head towards their designated meeting place so that he could pick up Connor after class. Of course, he wasn't there. _Of course_.

And then when he got home, the house just seemed so… empty. Haytham had spent years by himself in that house, but he couldn't remember for the life of him what he did before the arrival of his son. He also couldn't remember his house ever seeming so big or so empty.

Thus, on the second day, Haytham found that he couldn't stand to be in there by himself and decided to go out for the evening. He hadn't really _intended_ to go into the Morrigan, but once he found himself there, he was there.

Shay did not ask any questions, clearly getting the impression that Haytham did not want to talk, and kept refilling his glass of wine until the latter started to feel a slight buzzing in his head. Even after Haytham switched to coffee, he did not want to go home. He stayed there late until many of the other patrons had gone home or moved onto another pub. It was only when Haytham was the only person at the bar did Shay finally engage him in conversation.

"Not too often you stay this late," said Shay, clearly fishing for information.

"No," Haytham agreed dully.

"Nor do you usually order that much to drink," he continued.

"I'm not drunk," said Haytham pointedly. He may have a mild headache tomorrow morning, but he was still safe to drive home.

"I know," Shay said. He looked at the man opposite up and down. "I work in a pub and I see a lot of interesting characters come through here. I've been in this business long enough, though, to know the look of a man whose life has gone wrong."

Haytham leaned back in his stool with a sigh; he figured that there was no denying it. Haytham took another sip and contemplated what he wanted to say. "I suppose you're right," he said eventually.

"I've known you for a few years, Haytham, and if you'd like to discuss it with me…" said Shay earnestly. "I don't know that I'd be able to help, but I can at least lend an ear."

"My son," Haytham said. "He came home the other night; I'm sure you've heard what happened."

"I've heard a few rumors," Shay admitted. "He ran away?"

Haytham felt a twinge of discomfort at the thought that people were gossiping with a local bartender about his personal problems, but pushed the feeling away; it was a small town and he had _known_ that his situation with Connor would be a topic of conversation. After all, Haytham himself hadn't really tried to hide it. Why should he have? Not to mention all the people he told he would keep them updated with Connor running away. One of them was _bound_ to know Shay Cormac, or at least go to the pub every now and then.

"Yes and he seems to have gotten into a fight or something while he was gone," Haytham said.

Shay looked concerned. "Is he alright?"

"He's got a couple of scrapes and bruises and a black eye, but he seemed otherwise okay," said Haytham grudgingly. "I tried to get him to tell me what happened while he was gone, but he wouldn't; Connor didn't even want to tell me where he had gone."

"Well, that's understandable," Shay said. "He was probably-"

"I know that he's shy; I know that he doesn't like to talk to me about anything," said Haytham gravely. "Hell, I wish that he did, because maybe he could have told me what was going on in his life that made him want to run away. Yes, I know that he didn't really get along with Charles at school and then there was the whole mess with Malik and Kadar, but… Maybe I could have helped him."

Shay nodded. He looked thoughtful. "So where's Connor now?"

Haytham put his elbows on the counter and ran his hands through his hair. "I don't know."

"What?" said Shay, shocked.

"I said I don't know!" snapped Haytham. "His social worker took him away!"

Shay looked at him in silence for a long time. His dark eyes were calculating and he looked confused. "Why?"

"Because they think I've been hurting him," Haytham said, shaking his head. "Because they think that he ran away because I had been beating him."

"But you haven't been," said Shay.

"Of course not!" Haytham shook his head and glanced around the rest of the pub, but no one looked up or seemed to notice; everyone seemed so stuck in their own little worlds that they didn't even realize that there was an upset man at the counter talking to the bartender. "Of course not. I… apologize, I did not intend to yell."

"Don't worry," Shay said, waving his apology away. "I understand. But what do they have to go on? If you haven't been hurting him…"

"Well, at the moment, they have the fact that Connor ran away and all of those injuries he accumulated while he was gone," said Haytham gloomily. "Now they're probably sending him to some foster home where who knows what will happen to him…"

Haytham wasn't a fool; he had heard horror stories about children in foster homes, ranging anywhere from neglect, favoring biological children more than the one they're supposed to be taking care of, or even (horribly) sexual abuse. Haytham tried not to think about any of them too much, especially not in connection to Connor.

"You…" Haytham said, looking up at Shay. "You won't tell anyone about this, will you?"

"Of course not," he promised. Shay quirked a grin at him. "You've known me long enough to know that I know how to keep a secret."

"I know," said Haytham. "I just… so much has gone wrong lately, I just don't want it spread around town that I've been abusive towards my son. It will not only cost me my job, but if the social workers find out… I'll never regain custody of Connor."

"Let me give you some advice," Shay said seriously, leaning forward to fix him with a stare. "Don't worry about it."

Haytham looked up at him, dumbfounded. "What? Did you just hear yourself? How can I not worry?"

"Listen to me; if you have done nothing wrong, you have no reason to worry," Shay said. "The social workers will clear you again when they see how much you care for Connor and he will be back home in no time."

Haytham looked at the bartender skeptically. "You really think so?"

"I know so," said Shay. "In the meantime, it's late and it's a school night. You probably ought to go home and get yerself to bed."

"I… you're right," Haytham said grudgingly, at least in reference to the second comment. He slid off of the barstool and slapped down enough money to pay for the glasses of wine, as well as a (perhaps overly) generous tip. "I'm alright to drive."

Shay nodded. "See you soon."

Haytham made his way over towards the door. He hesitated before calling out, "Thank you," before he pushed his way outside into the night.


	33. Chapter 33

Connor, once again, found himself in the city, although under very different circumstances.

For one thing, he was sleeping in an actual bed, rather than on a bench in the park. It was sort of refreshing, even if it didn't quite feel like home.

The apartment was not as big as Haytham's house had been, but definitely more spacious than the one that Connor had shared with his mother. Most of the furniture was old and mix-matched. The room in which Connor was staying (it was not his room; he refused to accept it as his room) was painted blue and had a window facing the harbor.

Another difference was that Connor was in a completely different neighborhood than the one he had been in before. Yes, it still had its problems (graffiti, the occasional criminal), but that was to be expected when living in the city. The neighborhood was more of a middle-class area, and it certainly was not as rundown as his old one.

The final difference was that he wasn't alone. Connor found himself staying with an older man named Adéwalé. He was a dark skinned man with short gray hair, who was getting into his sixties. He had one son, but his child had long since grown and has had a child of his own. Adéwalé was still willing to take in foster children from time to time.

When Connor first arrived at Adéwalé's apartment, he jokingly told the teenager that he used to be a pirate. It didn't take long for Connor to figure out that the old man actually used to be a fisherman. This was evident by all of the pictures of ships hung up around the wall and the ever-present scent of fish that had lingered.

Adéwalé mostly left Connor to his own devices, which suited him just fine. He seemed to be perfectly fine with giving the teenager some space. They both recognized that this was just a temporary arrangement so there was no point in getting overly attached. That did not mean that they were unkind to one another, though.

As Connor didn't have any school to go to, he mostly spent his time reading the books that Adéwalé kept around the house. They were historical and informative, for the most part. Many were about the history of the slave trade in the Caribbean. Others were about sailing. Connor's favorite was about the types of birds found across the Eurasian continent. It appeared that Adéwalé had been reading it some time ago, bookmarked a page about a type of crow called a Jackdaw, and then completely forgot about the book. When the old man found Connor reading it, he said that the teenager could keep it if he wanted.

Connor did this to kill the anxiety that was steadily growing before his meeting with Lucy. She had dropped him off, promising to return in a couple days so that she could discuss his arrangement with him with Haytham.

"I'll be back in three days," she had promised, before giving her obligatory, "Be good!"

Connor wasn't usually the type to get excessively worried about things; he liked to think of himself as level headed and rational. There was no need to worry about something that didn't need to be worried about. The approaching meeting with Lucy, however… It was _definitely_ something he needed to worry about. His entire future was hanging in the balance.

Nevertheless, Connor did his best to hide his apprehensions from Adéwalé. The arrangement was temporary, as Connor kept reminding himself; in just a couple of days it would officially no longer be any of Adéwalé's business what Connor was doing or thinking.

Finally, the day came where Lucy would retrieve Connor to talk to him about Haytham. Connor woke up in the early hours of the morning, although he knew that she would not be coming for him until around ten. His internal clock told him that it was around five.

For the next two hours, Connor laid in the bed, staring up at the ceiling, imagining all of the horrible ways that the day could go wrong. Eventually, he convinced himself to roll out of bed and get ready for the day.

He dragged himself down the hall and into the bathroom to shower and get dressed. Once he was ready for the day, he sat down in the living room and stared blankly at the off television until the doorbell rang. Connor groaned and ran his hands through his hair as Adéwalé stood up to answer it.

"Hello," said Lucy pleasantly. "May I come in?"

"Of course," Adéwalé replied. "I was thinking that you two could just talk here, in the living room. I need to run to the store, so I'll be gone for a couple of hours, giving the both of you enough privacy."

"Sounds perfect," Lucy said.

Connor made no attempt to greet Lucy as she approached him. He simply looked at her with a dull, flat expression on his face. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"I'll see you both in two hours," said Adéwalé. "That should be a sufficient amount of time, yes?"

"Thank you very much," Lucy said. She turned towards Connor as Adéwalé left. "How are you doing, Connor?"

He glared at her. "Bored. I want to go home."

"Have you not been happy here with Adéwalé?"

"How I feel here doesn't matter. I want to go home."

"I can't send you back to Haytham's house until I know that you will be safe there," said Lucy pointedly.

"I _was_ safe there," Connor said, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

"That, I'm afraid, is for me to decide," said Lucy. She rummaged in her bag and pulled out her usual clipboard and pen, along with a tape recorder. "Do you mind if I record our conversation?"

"No."

Lucy turned on the recorder before looking back at Connor. "Let's start with why you ran away."

Connor folded his arms over his chest stubbornly and waited for her to continue. She peered at him skeptically, waiting for him to speak. When it became clear he wasn't going to, Lucy prompted, "Why did you run away from Haytham's house, Connor?"

"I don't know," Connor snapped.

Lucy looked at him over her clipboard. "You don't know?"

"Well, I do know, I just don't want to share that information with you," said Connor pointedly.

"Did you run away because you felt unsafe at Haytham's house?"

"Of course I felt safe there! I just ran away because…" He hesitated.

"Yes?"

Connor took a deep breath and reminded himself that his future was in the balance and that the sooner they got this over with the better. "I was overwhelmed."

"You were overwhelmed with what?" Lucy asked, scribbling down on her clipboard furiously.

"Everything," Connor admitted reluctantly.

"Can you give me some examples of what you were overwhelmed by?"

"Well… I don't know… One of the teachers at school stresses me out. He doesn't like me," said Connor.

"Which teacher?"

"Charles Lee."

"Does Haytham know about your problems with this teacher?" Lucy said, still writing notes down on her clipboard as fast as she could.

Connor paused for a moment. "Yes. I told him."

"And what did he do about your issue with Mr. Lee?"

"He set up a meeting with him and tried to talk to him about it," Connor admitted.

"Where were you at this point? Was the conflict resolved?"

"At home with a babysitter. And… well, sort of, I guess. He did seem mad at me in class sometimes, but he didn't directly pick on me anymore. His issue with me had nothing to do with Haytham, though," added Connor hastily.

"What else were you overwhelmed by?"

Connor stared at her blankly. "Do I really have to say it? One of my friends at school died and my babysitter was hurt pretty badly."

"I did hear about that," said Lucy carefully. "And did you feel that you needed to get away from all that?"

"In a way, I guess," Connor said flatly. "It's just… there's been so much death, I guess I just… I wanted to see my mom."

The room went silent, save for the whirlwind scratching of Lucy's pen. Connor tried to avoid watching her, waiting for her to ask the next question so that they could get the interview over with s quickly as possible. He also tried to shove away the embarrassment he felt about voicing his thoughts and reasons about why he ran away.

If he was honest with himself, he would also admit that he didn't really think that anyone would mind too much if he left. Connor had thought that he was unlucky; surely it would be better for everyone if he had simply… gone?

But now that he had tried to come back, he realized that he was wrong. Connor reflected on the look that Haytham had had on his face when he found him sitting on the porch. He thought about all of the people he had called. It crossed his mind, then, that Aveline and Malik had probably been worried about him too.

" _I am such an idiot,_ " Connor thought with a frown.

Lucy looked at him. "Are you okay?" she asked in concern, noticing his expression.

Connor shook his head out of his thoughts. "Yes."

"Has Haytham ever done anything that has made you feel unsafe?" Lucy said.

"No."

"Has he ever hurt you in any way? Physical or… otherwise?"

"No!"

"When I visited your house before, you mentioned that you had gotten in an argument with Haytham," Lucy said.

"Yes."

"What about?"

"Oh, I was playing with one of the neighbor kids."

"What was their name?"

"His name is Desmond Miles. He's four," said Connor.

"Playing with a four year old hardly seems like something to have an argument about," Lucy said with a frown.

"Well, a frisbee had gotten onto the roof and I climbed up to get it. Haytham saw."

Connor knew immediately that he had said the wrong thing. Lucy looked briefly surprised before she wrote for a long time down on her clipboard. She began to rummage around in her bag, pulling out a piece of paper and reading it.

Connor knotted his fingers together nervously, asking, "Is there something wrong?"

"Haytham told me that you fought because you left the house without telling him," said Lucy slowly, looking at her notes.

Connor blanched. "U-um, that was a different fight. I just-"

"Don't lie to me, please," Lucy said, massaging her temple.

"Who says I'm lying?" demanded Connor.

"Either you're lying to me, or Haytham was. To be honest, I'm more inclined to believe you at this point because you don't just make up a lie like 'frisbee on the roof' on the spot. Trust me, I've been doing this for a long time," she said seriously.

The two of them fell into an uncomfortable silence. Connor felt a bead of sweat drip down the back of his neck. Lucy leaned forward.

"Connor, I only want what's best for you-" she said.

"Me and the hundreds of other kids in the system-" interrupted Connor.

"-and I can't help you unless you help me," Lucy continued, as if the fourteen year old had never spoken. "I'm going to need you to be honest with me."

Connor fell silent, the wheels turning in his head.


End file.
